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Title: Sanders' Union Fourth Reader
Author: Charles W. Sanders
Release Date: October, 2005 [EBook #9078]
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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SANDERS' UNION FOURTH READER ***
Produced by David Garcia, Tonya Allen, Charles Franks,
and the Distributed Proofreaders
SANDERS' UNION FOURTH READER:
EMBRACING A FULL EXPOSITION OF THE PRINCIPLES OF RHETORICAL READING;
WITH NUMEROUS EXERCISES FOR PRACTICE,
BOTH IN PROSE AND POETRY, VARIOUS IN STYLE, AND CAREFULLY ADAPTED TO THE
PURPOSES OF TEACHING IN SCHOOLS OF EVERY GRADE.
BY CHARLES W. SANDERS, A.M.
PREFACE.
THIS FOURTH READER is designed to pass the pupil from the comparatively
easy ground occupied by the THIRD to the more difficult course embraced
in THE UNION FIFTH READER, which is next higher in the series. It is,
therefore, carefully graded to this intermediate position.
In one sense, however, it is the most important in the set; since the
great mass of pupils, in our common schools, are drawn away from
scholastic pursuits long before the proper time for entering upon any
course of reading more advanced than that which is here presented. This
consideration has had its full weight in the preparation of the
following pages.
Every exercise will be found to bear the impress of that special
adaptation to the purposes of teaching, without which no book of this
kind can fully perform the office which it assumes. The labor expended
in this direction, though all unseen by the casual observer, has been
neither light nor brief. It can be duly appreciated by none but the
experienced teacher.
All words in the exercises, requiring explanation, have been arranged,
as regular lessons in spelling and definition. In these definitions,
however, it must be kept in mind, that no attempt has been made to give
_all the meanings of which a word is susceptible, but that only which it
bears in the particular place in the exercise where it is found._ There
is a special educational advantage in thus leading the mind of the pupil
definitely to fix upon the _precise import_ of a word, in some
particular use or application of it.
All proper names occurring in the text, and at all likely to embarrass
the learner, have been explained in brief, comprehensive notes. These
notes involve many matters, Geographical, Biographical, and Historical,
which are not a little interesting in themselves, aside from the special
purpose subserved by them in the present connection.
All this has been done, and more, in order to secure that kind of
interest in the exercises which comes of reading what is clearly
understood; and because no perfect reading is possible, where the reader
himself fails to perceive the meaning of what he reads.
In the selection and adaptation of the pieces, the highest aim has been
to make and to leave the best moral impression; and this, not by dull
and formal teachings, but by the pleasanter, and, therefore, more
powerful, means of incidental and unexpected suggestion. Admonition is
then most likely to be heeded, when it comes through the channel of
events and circumstances.
The direct and ostensible aim of the book, however, has been kept
steadily in view; which is to furnish the best possible exercises for
practice in Rhetorical reading. To this end, the greatest variety of
style and sentiment has been sought. There is scarcely a tone or
modulation, of which the human voice is capable, that finds not here
some piece adapted precisely to its best expression. There is not an
inflection, however delicate, not an emphasis, however slight, however
strong, that does not here meet with something fitted well for its
amplest illustration. No tenderness of pathos, no earnestness of
thought, no play of wit, no burst of passion, is there, perhaps, of
which the accomplished teacher of Elocution may not find the proper
style of expression in these pages, and, consequently, the best examples
for the illustration of his art.
The book, thus briefly described, is, therefore, given to the public
with the same confidence that has hitherto inspired the author in
similar efforts, and with the hope that it may reach even a higher
measure of usefulness than that attained by any of its predecessors, in
the long line of works which he has prepared for the use of schools.
NEW YORK, April, 1863.
CONTENTS.
PART FIRST.
ELOCUTION.
SECTION I.--ARTICULATION
ELEMENTARY SOUNDS OF THE LETTERS
SUBSTITUTES FOR THE VOWEL ELEMENTS
SUBSTITUTES FOR THE CONSONANT ELEMENTS
ERRORS IN ARTICULATION
COMBINATIONS OF CONSONANTS
EXAMPLES TO ILLUSTRATE INDISTINCT ARTICULATION
MISCELLANEOUS EXAMPLES
SECTION II--ACCENT AND EMPHASIS
EXAMPLES OF PRIMARY AND SECONDARY ACCENT
EXAMPLES OF INTENSIVE EMPHASIS
EXAMPLES OF ABSOLUTE EMPHASIS
EXAMPLES OF ANTITHETIC EMPHASIS
SECTION III.--INFLECTIONS
MONOTONE
RISING AND FALLING INFLECTIONS
RULES FOR THE USE OF INFLECTIONS
THE CIRCUMFLEX
SECTION IV.--MODULATION
PITCH OF VOICE
QUANTITY
RULES FOR QUANTITY
QUALITY
RULES FOR QUALITY
NOTATION IN MODULATION
EXAMPLES FOR EXERCISE IN MODULATION
SECTION V.--THE RHETORICAL PAUSE
PART SECOND.
1. TRUE HEROISM, _Adapted. Osborne_
2. YOU AND I, _Charles Mackay_
3. LIFE'S WORK
4. THE YOUNG CAPTIVES
5. MY MOTHER'S LAST KISS, _Mrs. E. Oakes Smith_
6. THE DEAD CHILD'S FORD, _Mrs. E. Oakes Smith_
7. LAME AND LAZY--_A Fable_
8. FAITHFULNESS IN LITTLE THINGS, _Adapted, Eliza A. Chase_
9. THE AMERICAN BOY
10. THE SAILOR BOY'S SONG
11. CHASE OF THE PET FAWN, _Adapted. Miss Cooper_
12. KINDNESS
13. CARELESS WORDS
14. WEBSTER AND THE WOODCHUCK, _Adapted. Boston Traveler_
15. DO IT YOURSELF
16. BETTER LATE THAN NEVER
17. THE ADOPTED CHILD, _Mrs. Hemans_
18. THE OLD EAGLE TREE, _Rev. John Todd_
19. THE LIGHT OF KNOWLEDGE, _Elihu Burritt_
20. NIGHT'S LESSONS, _L.H. Sigourney_
21. NATURE'S TEACHINGS, _Chambers' Journal_
22. SOWING AND HARVESTING, _Anon._
23. A THRILLING INCIDENT, _Adapted. Anon._
24. THE TRUTHFUL KING
25. WHEN SHALL I ANSWER, NO, _J.N. McElligott_
26. TO MASTER ROBERT AND JOHN, _Davis_
27. WHANG, THE MILLER, _Goldsmith_
28. CHIMNEY-SWALLOWS, _Henry Ward Beecher_
29. THE DOUBTING HEART, _Adelaide Procter_
30. THE COMING OF WINTER, _T.B. Read_
31. CHILD TIRED OF PLAY, _N.P. Willis_
32. THE RESCUE, _By a Sea Captain_
33. ROBERT BRUCE AND THE SCOTCH WOMAN
34. ROBERT BRUCE AND THE SPIDER, _Bernard Barton_
35. WEALTH AND FASHION
36. MY FIRST JACK-KNIFE
37. THE PINE-TREE SHILLINGS, _Nathaniel Hawthorne_
38. HIAWATHA'S HUNTING, _Longfellow_
39. DESPERATE ENCOUNTER WITH A PANTHER, _Bk. of Adventures_
40. THE POWER OF HABIT, _John B. Gough_
41. THE DRUNKARD'S DAUGHTER
42. THE TWO YOUNG TRAVELERS, _Adapted. Merry's Museum_
43. HIGHER!
44. LABOR, _Caroline F. Orne_
45. THE AMBITIOUS APPRENTICE
46. SO WAS FRANKLIN, _Anon._
47. NOW AND THEN, _Jane Taylor_
48. AN INGENIOUS STRATAGEM, _Days of Washington_
49. FRANCES SLOCUM, THE YOUNG CAPTIVE, _B.J. Lossing_
50. THE RAIN-DROPS, _Delia Louise Colton_
51. SMALL THINGS, _F. Bennoch_
52. MURDERER'S CREEK, _James K. Paulding_
53. NAPOLEON'S ARMY CROSSING THE ALPS, _Adapted. Anon._
54. WHERE THERE'S A WILL THERE'S A WAY, _Eliza Cook_
55. "I CAN"
56. NOW, TO-DAY, _Adelaide A. Procter_
57. CAPTURE OF MAJOR ANDRE
58. BENEDICT ARNOLD
59. BEHIND TIME, _Freeman Hunt_
60. HOW HAPPY I'LL BE
61. THE SWORD OF BUNKER HILL, _William R. Wallace_
62. BIBLE LEGEND OF THE WISSAHIKON, _Lippard_
63. ADVICE TO THE YOUNG, _E.H. Chapin_
64. THE INTREPID YOUTH
65. THE FOUR MISFORTUNES, _John G. Saxe_
66. MRS. CREDULOUS AND THE FORTUNE-TELLER
67. FAITH, HOPE, AND CHARITY--_An Allegory_
68. NOT TO MYSELF ALONE, _S.W. Partridge_
69. THE WORLD WOULD BE THE BETTER FOR IT, _W.H. Cobb_
70. SELECT PROVERBS OF SOLOMON, _Bible_
71. WINTER BEAUTY, _Henry Ward Beecher_
72. FROSTED TREES
73. THE MOUNTAINS OF LIFE, _James G. Clark_
74. IMAGINARY EVILS, _Chas. Swain_
75. SIR WALTER AND THE LION, _A. Walchner_
76. CHOICE EXTRACTS
I. WHAT REALLY BENEFITS US.
II. GOD'S LOVE.
III. LIFE-WORK.
IV. HUMILITY.
V. BENEFITS OF ADVERSITY.
VI. OUR MOUNTAIN HOMES.
VII. MAKE A BEGINNING.
VIII. INFLUENCE.
IX. PLEASURE IN ACQUIRING KNOWLEDGE.
X. WHAT IS FAME?
XI. CULTIVATED INTELLECT.
XII. GOD'S WORKS ATTEST HIS GREATNESS.
77. CAPTURE OF THE WHALE
78. LEAVES FROM AN AERONAUT, _Willis Gaylord Clark_
79. THE DAPPLE MARE, _John G. Saxe_
80. A LEAP FOR LIFE, _George P. Morris_
81. THE INDIAN BRIDE'S REVENGE, _Adapted. L.M. Stowell_
82. A MOTHER'S LOVE, _Albert Barnes_
83. THE LIFE-BOOK, _Home Journal_
84. ODE ON SOLITUDE, _Pope_
85. GETTING THE RIGHT START, _J.G. Holland_
86. THE PRESUMPTION OF YOUTH, _Rollin_
87. SONG OF THE AMERICAN EAGLE
88 THE ARMY OF REFORM, _Sarah Jane Lippincott_
89. LAST CRUISE OF THE MONITOR, _Adapted. Grenville M. Weeks_
90. DUTIES AND RESPONSIBILITIES OF WOMEN, _Gail Hamilton_
91. SCENE FROM WILLIAM TELL, _J. Sheridan Knowles_
92. THE RICH MAN AND THE POOR MAN, _Khemnitzer_
93. GRANDEUR OF THE OCEAN, _Walter Colton_
94. A BURIAL AT SEA, _Walter Colton_
95. THE TREASURES OF THE DEEP, _Mrs. Hemans_
96. THE BRIDGE OF SIGHS, _Thomas Hood_
97. A REQUIEM
98. VISIT TO MOUNT VERNON, _A.C. Ritchie_
99. LA FAYETTE, _Charles Sprague_
100. THE MYSTIC WEAVER, _Rev. Dr. Harbaugh_
101. WORK AWAY, _Harpers' Magazine_
102. QUEEN ISABELLA'S RESOLVE, _Vinet_
103. DISCOVERY OF THE NEW WORLD, _Lamartine_
104. THE RETURN OF COLUMBUS, _Vinet_
105. TWO HUNDRED YEARS AGO, _Grenville Mellen_
106. PRESS ON, _Park Benjamin_
107. THE THREE FORMS OF NATURE, _From the French of Michelet_
108. THE WHALE AND THE WHALER, _From the French of Michelet_
109. RIENZI'S ADDRESS TO THE ROMANS, _Miss Mitford_
110. SONG OF THE FORGE
111. CHOICE EXTRACTS
I. SWIFTNESS OF TIME.
II. THE SHIP OF STATE.
III. THE TRUE HERO.
IV. HEART ESSENTIAL TO GENIUS.
V. EDUCATION.
VI. VANITY OF WEALTH.
VII. CONSOLATION OF THE GOSPEL.
VIII. THE LIGHT OF HOPE.
IX. PAMPERING THE BODY AND STARVING THE SOUL.
112. WE ALL DO FADE AS A LEAF, _Gail Hamilton_
113. TEACHINGS OF NATURE, _Pollok_
114. PASSING UNDER THE ROD, _Mary S.B. Dana_
115. THE PETULANT MAN, _Osborne_
116. THE BRAHMIN AND THE ROGUES, _Versified by J.N. McElligott_
117. LIVING WITHIN OUR MEANS, _S.W. Partridge_
118. GRANDEUR OF THE UNIVERSE, _O.M. Mitchel_
119. "WHOM HAVE I IN HEAVEN BUT THEE?", _Pamelia S. Vining_
120. THE MEMORY OF WASHINGTON, _Kossuth_
121. THE LOST ONE'S LAMENT
EXPLANATION OF THE PAUSES.
.
The Period is the longest pause--a full stop. It marks the end of a
sentence, and shows the sense complete; as, The sky is blue`. Pause the
time of counting _six_, and let the voice fall.
?
The Interrogation is used at the end of a question; as, Is the sky
blue'? If the question can be answered by _yes_ or _no_, the voice
rises; if not, it falls; as, Where is your map`;? Pause the time of
counting _six_.
!
The Exclamation denotes wonder, surprise, pain, or joy; as, O'! what a
sweet rose`! Pause the time of counting _one_, after a single word, and
let the voice rise; but after a complete sentence, pause the time of
counting _six_, and let the voice fall.
:
The Colon is a pause shorter than the Period; as, The sky is clear`: the
sun shines. Pause the time of counting _four_, and let the voice fall.
;
The Semicolon is a pause shorter than the Colon; as, The rose is fair`;
but it soon fades. Pause the time of counting _two_, and let the voice
fall. Sometimes the voice should rise, as the sense may require.
,
The Comma is the shortest pause; as, Jane goes to school', and learns to
read. Pause the time of counting _one_, and keep the voice up.
--
The Dash denotes a sudden pause or change of subject; as, I saw him--but
what a sight! When the dash is used after any other pause, the time of
that pause is doubled.
* * * * *
EXPLANATION OF OTHER MARKS.
'
The Apostrophe has the form of the comma. It denotes the possessive
case; as, John's book; also, that one or more letters have been left out
of a word; as, lov'd for loved.
" "
The Quotation includes a passage that is taken from some other author or
speaker; as, John said: "See my kite."
( )
The Parenthesis includes words not properly a part of the main sentence;
as, I like these people (who would not?) very much. The words within the
parenthesis should be read in a lower tone of voice.
[ ]
The Brackets inclose words that serve to explain the preceding word or
sentence; as, James [the truthful boy] went home.
^
The Caret shows where words are to be put in that have been omitted by
mistake; as, Live ^in peace.
(..)
The Diaresis is placed over the latter of two vowels, to show that they
belong to two distinct syllables; as, aerial.
-
The Hyphen is used to connect compound words; as, Well-doing; or the
parts of a word separated at the end of a line.
[Index]
The Index points to something special or remarkable; as, => Important
News!
*** .... or ----
The Ellipsis shows that certain words or letters have been purposely
omitted; as, K**g, k..g, or k--g, for king.
[Paragraph]
The Paragraph denotes the beginning of a new subject. It is chiefly used
in the Bible; as, [Paragraph] The same day came to him, etc.
[Section]
The Section is used to divide a book or chapter into parts; as,
[Section]45.
* [Obelisk] [Double Dagger]
The Asterisk, the Obelisk, the Double Dagger, and sometimes other marks,
[Footnote: For instance: the Section mark, [Section], and the Parallel,
||.] refer to notes in the margin.
APPLICATIONS OF THE MARKS USED IN WRITING.
LINE
1 My Young Friends', never tell a falsehood`; but always
2 speak the truth`; this is pleasing to your Maker.
3 Do you read His holy word--the Bible'? O! remem-
4 ber, that He has there said: "He that speaketh lies, shall
5 not escape: he shall perish."* Remember, too, that the
6 All-seeing God knows all that we say or do.
7 [Paragraph] Tho' wisdom's voice is seldom heard in k--g's
8 palaces,--there have been _wise_ kings, (_e.g._ Solomon,) who
9 were lov'd and obey'd by their subjects.[Obelisk]
10 Here, [i.e. in the U.S.,] we can not boast of our kings,
11 princes, lords, &c.; yet we have had a PRESIDENT, who,
12 in true greatness, surpass'ed them all; viz., the great
13 WASHINGTON.---- [Index] Washington feared and hon-
14 ored God.
15 [S] Section, [/=] Double Dagger, and || Parallel, are also used
16 for reference to the margin.
* * * * *
* Proverbs xix. 5 and 9. [Obelisk] 1 Kings.
PART FIRST.
ELOCUTION.
Elocution is the art of delivering written or extemporaneous composition
with force, propriety, and ease.
It deals, therefore, with words, not only as individuals, but as members
of a sentence, and parts of a connected discourse: including every thing
necessary to the just expression of the sense. Accordingly, it demands,
in a _special_ manner, attention to the following particulars; viz.,
ARTICULATION, ACCENT, EMPHASIS, INFLECTION, MODULATION, and PAUSES.
* * * * *
SECTION I.
ARTICULATION.
Articulation is the art of uttering distinctly and justly the letters
and syllables constituting a word.
It deals, therefore, with the elements of words, just as elocution deals
with the elements of sentences: the one securing the true enunciation of
each letter, or combination of letters, the other giving to each word,
or combination of words, such a delivery as best expresses the meaning
of the author. It is the basis of all good reading, and should be
carefully practiced by the learner.
ELEMENTARY SOUNDS OF THE LETTERS.
VOWEL SOUNDS.
TONICS.
_Element_. _Power_.
1.--1 A as in _A_pe.
2.--2 A " _A_rm.
3.--3 A " _A_ll.
4.--4 A " _A_t.
5.--5 A " C_a_re.
6.--6 A " _A_sk.
7.--1 E " _E_ve.
8.--2 E " _E_nd.
9.--1 I " _I_ce.
10.--2 I " _I_t.
11.--1 O " _O_ld.
12.--2 O " D_o_.
13.--3 O " _O_x.
14.--1 U " _U_se.
15.--2 U " _U_p.
16.--3 U " P_u_ll.
17.--OI " O_i_l.
18.--OU " O_u_t.
CONSONANT SOUNDS.
SUB-TONICS.
19.--B as in _B_at.
20.--D " _D_un.
21.--G " _G_un.
22.--J " _J_et.
23.--L " _L_et.
24.--M " _M_an.
25.--N " _N_ot.
26.--R " _R_un.
27.--V " _V_ent.
28.--W " _W_ent.
29.--Y " _Y_es.
30.--1 Z " _Z_eal.
31.--2 Z " A_z_ure.
32.--NG " Si_ng_.
33.--TH " _Th_y.
A-TONICS.
34.--F as in _F_it.
35.--H " _H_at.
36.--K " _K_id.
36.--P " _P_it.
38.--S " _S_in.
39.--T " _T_op.
40.--CH " _Ch_at.
41.--SH " _Sh_un.
42.--TH " _Th_in.
43.--WH " _Wh_en.
21: Soft G is equivalent to J; soft C to S, and hard C and Q to K.
X is equivalent to K and S, as in _box_, or to G and Z
as in _exalt_.
42: WH is pronounced as if the H preceded W, otherwise it would be
pronounced _W hen_. R should be slightly trilled before a
vowel. For further instructions, see Sanders and Merrill's
Elementary and Elocutionary Chart.
SUBSTITUTES FOR THE VOWEL ELEMENTS.
For Long A.
_ai_ as in s_ai_l.
_au_ " g_au_ge.
_ay_ " l_ay_.
_ea_ " gr_ea_t.
_ei_ " d_ei_gn.
_ey_ " th_ey_.
For Flat A.
_au_ as in d_au_nt.
_ea_ " h_ea_rt.
_ua_ " g_ua_rd.
For Broad A.
_au_ as in p_au_se.
_aw_ " l_a_w.
_eo_ " G_eo_rge.
_oa_ " gr_oa_t.
_o_ " h_o_rn.
_ou_ " s_ou_ght.
For Short A.
_ai_ as in pl_ai_d.
_ua_ " g_ua_ranty.
For Intermediate A.
_ai_ as in h_ai_r.
_ea_ " b_ea_r.
_e_ " wh_e_re.
_ei_ " th_ei_r.
For Long E.
_ea_ as in w_ea_k.
_ei_ " s_ei_ze.
_eo_ " p_eo_ple.
_ey_ " k_ey_.
_ie_ " br_ie_f.
_i_ " p_i_que.
For Short E.
_a_ as in _a_ny.
_ai_ " s_ai_d.
_ay_ " s_ay_s.
_ea_ " d_ea_d.
_ei_ " h_ei_fer.
_eo_ " l_eo_pard.
_ie_ " fr_ie_nd.
_ue_ " g_ue_ss.
_u_ " b_u_ry.
For Long I.
_ai_ as in _ai_sle.
_ei_ " sl_ei_ght.
_ey_ " _ey_e.
_ie_ " d_ie_.
_oi_ " ch_oi_r.
_ui_ " g_ui_de.
_uy_ " b_uy_.
_y_ " tr_y_.
For Short I.
_e_ as in _E_nglish.
_ee_ " b_ee_n.
_ie_ " s_ie_ve.
_o_ " w_o_men.
_u_ " b_u_sy.
_ui_ " b_ui_ld.
_y_ " s_y_mbol.
For Long O.
_au_ as in h_au_tboy.
_eau_ " b_eau_.
_eo_ " y_eo_man.
_ew_ " s_ew_.
_oa_ " b_oa_t.
_oe_ " h_oe_.
_ou_ " s_ou_l.
_ow_ " fl_o_w.
For Long Slender O.
_oe_ as in sh_oe_.
_ou_ " s_ou_p.
For Short O.
_a_ as in w_a_s.
_ou_ " h_ou_gh.
_ow_ " kn_ow_ledge.
For Long U.
_eau_ as in b_eau_ty.
_eu_ " f_eu_d.
_ew_ " d_ew_.
_ieu_ " ad_ieu_.
_ou_ " y_ou_r.
_ue_ " c_ue_.
_ui_ " s_ui_t.
For Short U.
_e_ as in h_e_r.
_i_ " s_i_r.
_oe_ " d_oe_s.
_o_ " l_o_ve.
_ou_ " y_ou_ng.
For Short Slender U.
_o_ as in w_o_lf.
_ou_ " w_ou_ld.
For the Diphthong OI.
_oy_ as in j_oy_.
For the Diphthong OU.
_ow_ as in n_ow_.
There is no pure Triphthongal sound in the language. _Buoy_ is
equivalent to _bwoy_. _U_ being a consonant.
SUBSTITUTES FOR THE CONSONANT ELEMENTS.
F.
_gh_ as in lau_gh_.
_ph_ " s_ph_ere.
J.
_g_ " _g_em.
K.
_c_ " _c_an.
_ch_ " _ch_ord.
_gh_ " hou_gh_.
_q_ " _q_uit.
S.
_c_ " _c_ent.
T.
_d_ " face_d_.
_phth_ " _phth_isic.
V.
_f_ " o_f_.
_ph_ " Ste_ph_en.
Y.
_i_ " val_i_ant.
1 Z.
_c_ " suffi_c_e.
_s_ " wa_s_.
_x_ " _X_erxes.
2 Z.
_s_ " trea_s_ure.
_z_ " a_z_ure.
_si_ " fu_si_on.
_zi_ " gla_zi_er.
NG.
_n_ " co_n_ch.
SH.
_ce_ " o_ce_an.
_ci_ " so_ci_al.
_ch_ " _ch_aise.
_si_ " pen_si_on.
_s_ " _s_ure.
_ss_ " i_ss_ue.
_ti_ " no_ti_on.
CH.
_ti_ " fus_ti_an.
B, D, G, H, L, M, N, P, and R, have no substitutes.
The most common faults in ARTICULATION are
I. _The suppression of a syllable; as,_
cab'n for cab-_i_n.
cap'n " cap-_tai_n.
barr'l " bar-r_e_l.
ev'ry " ev-_e_-ry.
hist'ry " his-t_o_-ry
reg'lar " reg-_u_-lar.
sev'ral " sev-_e_r-al.
rhet'ric " rhet-_o_-ric.
mem'ry " mem-_o_-ry.
jub'lee " ju-b_i_-lee.
trav'ler " trav-_e_l-er.
fam'ly " fam-_i_-ly.
vent'late " ven-t_i_-late.
des'late " des-_o_-late.
prob'ble " prob-_a_-ble.
par-tic'lar " par-tic-_u_-lar.
II. _The omission of any sound properly belonging to a word; as,_
read-in for read-in_g_.
swif-ly " swif_t_-ly.
com-mans " com-man_d_s.
wam-er " wa_r_m-er.
um-ble " _h_um-ble.
ap-py " _h_ap-py.
con-sis " con-sis_t_s.
fa-t'l " fa-tal.
pr'-tect " pr_o_-tect.
b'low " b_e_-low.
p'r-vade " p_e_r-vade.
srink-in " s_h_rink-in_g_.
th'if-ty " th_r_if-ty.
as-ter-is " as-ter-is_k_.
gov-er-ment " gov-er_n_-ment.
Feb-u-ary " Feb-_r_u-a-ry.
III. _The substitution of one sound for another; as,_
_uf_-ford for _a_f-ford.
wil-l_e_r " wil-lo_w_.
sock-_i_t " sock-_et_.
fear-l_u_ss " fear-l_e_ss.
cul-t_e_r " cult-_u_re.
prod-u_x_ " prod-u_cts_.
judg-m_u_nt " judg-m_e_nt.
chil-dr_i_n " chil-dr_e_n.
mod-_i_st " mod-_e_st.
_u_p-prove " _a_p-prove.
_w_in-e-gar " _v_in-e-gar.
sep-_e_-rate " sep-_a_-rate.
temp-er-_i_t " tem-per-_a_te.
croc-_e_r-dile " croc-_o_-dile.
t_u_b-ac-c_u_r " t_o_-bac-c_o_.
com-pr_u_m-ise " com-pr_o_-mise.
IV. Produce the sounds denoted by the following combinations of
consonants:--
Let the pupil first produce the sound of the letters, and then the word
or words in which they occur. Be careful to give a clear and distinct
enunciation to every letter.
1. _Bd_, as in ro_b'd_; _bdst_, pro_b'dst_; _bl_, _bl_ and,
a_bl_e; _bld_, hum-_bl'd; bldst_, trou_bl'dst_; _blst_,
trou_bl'st; blz_, crum_bles; br_, _br_and; _bz_, ri_bs_.
2. _Ch_, as in _ch_ur_ch; cht_, fet_ch'd_.
3. _Dj_, as in e_dg_e; _djd_, he_dg'd; dl_, bri_dle; dld_,
rid_dl'd; dlst_, han_dl'st_; _dlz_, bun_dles; dn_,
har_d'n; dr_, _dr_ove; _dth_, wi_dth; dths_, brea_dths;
dz_, o_dds_.
4. _Fl_, as in _fl_ame; _fld_, ri_fl'd_; _flst_, sti_fl'st_;
_flx_, ri_fles_; _fr_, _fr_om; _fs_, qua_ffs_, lau_ghs_;
_fst_, lau_gh'st_, qua_ff'st_; _ft_, ra_ft_; _fts_,
wa_fts; ftst_, gr_ft'st_.
5. _Gd_, as in beg_g'd_; _gdst_, brag_g'dst; gl_, _gl_ide;
_gld_, strug_gl'd; gldst_, hag_gl'dst; gist_, stran_gl'st;
glz_, min_gles; gr, gr_ove; _gst_, beg_g'st; gz_, fi_gs_.
6. _Kl_, as in un_cle_, an_kle_; _kld_, trick_l'd; kldst_,
truck_l'dst; klst_, chuc_kl'st; klz_, wrin_kles; kn_,
blac_k'n; knd_, rec_k'n'd; kndst_, rec_k'n'dst; knst_,
blac_k'n'st; knz_, rec_k'ns; kr, cr_ank; _ks_, chec_ks;
kt_, a_ct_.
7. _Lb_, as in bu_lb_; _lbd_, bu_lb'd; lbs_, bu_lbs; lch_,
fi_lch; lcht_, be_lch'd; ld_, ho_ld; ldst_, fo_ld'st;
ldz_, ho_lds; lf_, se_lf; lfs_, gu_lfs; lj_, bu_lge; lk_,
e_lk; lks_, si_lks; lkt_, mi_lk'd; lkts_, mu_lcts; lm_,
e_lm; lmd_, whel_m'd; lmz_, fi_lms; ln_, fa_ll'n;_ _lp_,
he_lp_; _lps_, sca_lps_; _lpst_, _help'st_; _ls_, fa_lse_;
_lst_, ca_ll'st_; _lt_, me_lt_; _lth_, hea_lth_; _lths_,
stea_lths_; _lts_, co_lts_; _lv_, de_lve_; _lvd_,
she_lv'd_; _lvz_, el_ves_; _lz_, ha_lls_.
8. _Md_, as in doo_m'd_; _mf_, triu_mph_; _mp_, he_mp_;
_mpt_, te_mpt_; _mpts_, atte_mpts_; _mst_, ento_mb'st_;
_mz_, to_mbs_.
9. _Nch_, as in be_nch_; _ncht_, pi_nch'd_; _nd_, a_nd_;
_ndst_, e_nd'st_; _ndz_, e_nds_; _ng_, su_ng_; _ngd_,
ba_nged_; _ngth_, le_ngth_; _ngz_, so_ngs_; _nj_, ra_nge_;
_njd_, ra_ng'd_; _nk_, i_nk_; _nks_, ra_nks_; _nkst_,
tha_nk'st_; _nst_, wi_ne'd_; _nt_, se_nt_; _nts_, re_nts_;
_ntst_, we_nt'st_; _nz_, ru_ns_.
10. _Pl_, as in _pl_ume; _pld_, rip_pl'd_; _plst_, rip_pl'st_;
_plz_, ap_ples_; _pr_, _pr_ince; _ps_, si_ps_; _pst_,
rap_p'st_; _pt_, rip_p'd_.
11. _Rb_, as in he_rb_; _rch_, sea_rch_; _rcht_, chu_rch'd_;
_rbd_, o_rbd_; _rbdst_, ba_rb'dst_; _rbst_, distu_rb'st_;
_rbz_, o_rbs_; _rd_, ha_rd_; _rdst_, hea_rd'st_; _rdz_,
wo_rds_; _rf_, tu_rf_; _rft_, sca_rfd_; _rg_, bu_rg_;
_rgz_, bu_rgs_; _rj_, di_rge_; _rjd_, u_rg'd_; _rk_,
a_rk_; _rks_, a_rks_; _rkst_, wo_rk'st_; _rkt_, di_rk'd_;
_rktst_, emba_rk'dst_; _rl_, gi_rl_; _rld_, wo_rld_;
_rldst_, hu_rld'st_; _rlst_, whi_rl'st_; _rlz_, hu_rls_;
_rm_, a_rm_; _rmd_, a_rm'd_; _rmdst_, ha_rm'dst_; _rmst_,
a_rm'st_; _rmz_, cha_rms_; _rn_, tu_rn_; _rnd_, tu_rn'd_;
_rndst_, ea_rn'dst_; _rnst_, lea_rn'st_; _rnz_, u_rns_;
_rp_, ca_rp_; _rps_, ha_rps_; _rpt_, wa_rp'd_; _rs_,
ve_rs_e; _rsh_, ha_rsh_; _rst_, fi_rst_; _rsts_, bu_rsts_;
_rt_, da_rt_; _rth_, ea_rth_; _rths_, bi_rths_; _rts_,
ma_rts_; _rtst_, da_rt'st_; _rv_, cu_rve_; _rvd_,
ne_rv'd_; _rvdst_, cu_rv'dst_; _rvst_, swe_rv'st_; _rvz_,
ne_rves_; _rz_, e_rrs_.
12. _Sh_, as in _sh_ip; _sht_, hu_sh'd_; _sk_, _sc_an, _sk_ip;
_sks_, tu_sks_; _skst_, fri_sk'st_; _skt_, ri_sk'd_; _sl_,
_sl_ow; _sld_, ne_stl'd_; _slz_, we_stles_; _sm_, _sm_ile;
_sn_, _sn_ag; _sp_, _sp_ort; _sps_, li_sps_; _spt_,
cla_sp'd_; _st_, _st_ag; _str_, _str_ike; _sts_, re_sts_;
_sw_, _sw_ing.
13. _Th_, as in _th_ine, _th_in; _thd_, brea_th'd_; _thr_,
_thr_ee; _thst_, brea_th'st_; _thw_, _thw_ack; _thz_,
wri_thes_; _tl_, ti_tle_; _tld_, set_tl'd_; _tldst_,
set_tl'dst_; _tlst_,set_tl'st_; _tlz_, net_tles_; _tr_,
_tr_uuk; _ts_, fi_ts_; _tw_, _tw_irl.
14. _Vd_, as in cur_v'd_; _vdst_, li_v'dst_; _vl_, dri_v'l_;
_vld_, gro_v'l'd_; _vldst_, gro_v'l'dst_; _vlst_,
dri_v'l'st_; _un_, dri_v'n_; _vst_, li_v'st_; _vz_,
li_ves_.
15. _Wh_, as in _wh_en, _wh_ere.
16. _Zd_, as in mu_s'd_; _zl_, daz_zle_; _zld_, muz_zl'd_;
_zldst_, daz_zl'dst_; _zlst_, daz_zl'st_; _zlz_,
muz_zles_; _zm_, spa_sm_; _zmz_, cha_sms_; _zn_, ri_s'n_;
_znd_, rea_s'n'd_; _znz_, pri_s'nz_; _zndst_,
impri_s'n'dst_.
V. Avoid blending the termination of one word with the beginning of
another, or suppressing the final letter or letters of one word, when
the next word commences with a similar sound.
EXAMPLES.
His small eyes instead of His small lies.
She keeps pies " She keeps spies.
His hour is up " His sour is sup.
Dry the widow's tears " Dry the widow steers.
Your eyes and ears " Your rise sand dears.
He had two small eggs " He had two small legs.
Bring some ice cream " Bring some mice scream.
Let all men praise Him " Let tall men pray sim.
He was killed in war " He was skilled in war.
Water, air, and earth " Water rare rand dearth.
Come and see me once more " Come mand see me one smore.
NOTE.--By an indistinct Articulation the sense of a passage is often
liable to be perverted.
EXAMPLES.
1. Will he attempt to conceal hi_s acts?_
Will he attempt to conceal hi_s sacks?_
2. The man ha_d o_ars to row he_r o_ver.
The man ha_d d_oors to row he_r r_over.
3. Can there be a_n a_im more lofty?
Can there be _a n_ame more lofty?
4. The judge_s o_ught to arrest the culprits.
The judge_s s_ought to arrest the culprits.
5. Hi_s i_re burned when she told him he_r a_ge.
Hi_s s_ire burned when she told him he_r r_age.
6. He wa_s a_wed at the works of labor a_nd a_rt.
He wa_s s_awed at the works of labor a_n d_art.
7. He wa_s tr_ained in the religion of his fathers.
He wa_s st_rained in the religion of his fathers.
MISCELLANEOUS EXAMPLES.
1. _Br_avely o'er _th_e _b_oi_st_e_r_ous _b_i_ll_ow_s_,
_H_is _g_a_ll_a_nt_ _b_a_rk_ _w_a_s_ _b_o_rn_e.
2. _C_a_n_ _cr_a_v_e_n_ _c_owa_rds_ e_x_pe_ct_ to
_c_o_nq_ue_r_ _th_e _c_ou_ntr_y?
3. _Cl_i_ck_, _cl_i_ck_, _g_oe_s_ _th_e _cl_o_ck_; _cl_a_ck_,
_cl_a_ck_, _g_oe_s_ _th_e _m_i_ll_.
4. _D_i_d_ _y_ou _d_esi_r_e to _h_ea_r_ _h_i_s_ _d_a_rk_
a_nd_ _d_o_l_e_f_u_l_ _dr_ea_ms_?
5. "_F_ir_m_-_p_a_c_e_d_ a_nd_ _sl_ow, a _h_o_rr_i_d_
_fr_o_nt_ _th_ey _form_,
_St_i_ll_ a_s_ _th_e _br_ee_ze_; _b_u_t_ _dr_ea_df_u_l_
a_s_ _th_e _st_or_m_."
6. _Th_e _fl_a_m_i_ng_ _f_i_r_e _fl_a_sh_ed _f_ea_rf_u_ll_y
i_n_ _h_i_s_ _f_a_c_e.
7. _Th_e _gl_a_ss_y _gl_a_ci_e_rs_ _gl_ea_m_e_d_ i_n_
_gl_owi_ng_ _l_igh_t_.
8. _H_ow _h_igh _h_i_s_ ho_n_o_rs_ _h_ea_v_e_d_ _h_i_s_
_h_augh_t_y _h_ea_d_!
9. _H_e _dr_ew _l_o_ng_, _l_e_g_i_bl_e _lin_e_s_ a_l_o_ng_
_th_e _l_ove_l_y _l_a_ndsc_a_p_e.
10. _M_a_ss_e_s_ of i_mm_e_ns_e _m_a_gn_i_t_u_d_e _m_o_v_e
_m_a_j_e_st_i_c_a_ll_y _thr_ough _th_e _v_a_st_ e_mp_i_r_e
of _th_e _s_o_l_a_r_ _s_y_st_e_m_.
11. _R_ou_nd_ _th_e _r_ou_gh_ a_nd_ _r_u_gg_e_d_ _r_o_cks_
_th_e _r_a_gg_e_d_ _r_a_sc_a_l_ _r_a_n_.
12. _Th_e _str_i_pl_i_ng_ _str_a_ng_e_r_ _str_aye_d_
_str_aigh_t_ _to_wa_rd_ _th_e _str_u_ggl_i_ng_ _str_ea_m_.
13. _Sh_e u_tt_e_r_e_d_ a _sh_a_rp_, _shr_i_ll_ _shr_ie_k_,
a_nd_ _th_e_n_ _shr_u_nk_ _fr_o_m_ _th_e _shr_i_v_e_l_e_d_
_f_o_rm_ _th_a_t_ _sl_u_mb_e_r_e_d_ i_n_ _th_e _shr_ou_d_.
14. _F_or _f_ear o_f_ o_ff_ending _th_e _fr_ight_f_ul
fugitive, _th_e _v_i_l_e _v_a_g_a_b_o_nd_ _v_e_nt_u_r_e_d_
_t_o _v_i_l_i_fy_ _th_e _v_e_n_e_r_a_bl_e _v_e_t_e_r_a_n_.
15. A_midst_ _th_e _m_i_sts_, _w_i_th_ a_ngr_y _b_oa_sts_,
_H_e _thr_u_sts_ _h_i_s_ _f_i_sts_ a_g_ai_nst_ _th_e
_p_o_sts_,
A_nd_ _st_i_ll_ i_ns_i_sts_ _h_e _s_ee_s_ _th_e
_g_ho_sts_.
16. Peter Prangle, the prickly prangly pear picker, picked
three pecks of prickly prangly pears, from the prangly
pear trees, on the pleasant prairies.
17. Theophilus Thistle, the successful thistle sifter, in
sifting a sieve full of unsifted thistles, thrust three
thousand thistles through the thick of his thumb; now, if
Theophilus Thistle, the successful thistle sifter, in
sifting a sieve full of unsifted thistles, thrust three
thousand thistles through the thick of _his_ thumb, see
that _thou_, in sifting a sieve full of unsifted thistles,
thrust not three thousand thistles through the thick of
_thy_ thumb. Success to the successful thistle sifter.
18. We travel _sea_ and _soil_; we _pry_, we _prowl_;
We _progress_, and we _prog_ from _pole_ to _pole_.
SECTION II.
ACCENT AND EMPHASIS.
ACCENT and EMPHASIS both indicate some special stress of voice.
Accent is that stress of voice by which one _syllable_ of a word is made
more prominent than others; EMPHASIS is that stress of voice by which
one or more _words_ of a sentence are distinguished above the rest.
ACCENT.
The accented syllable is sometimes designated thus: ('); as,
_com-mand'-ment_.
NOTE I.--Words of more than two syllables generally have two or more of
them accented.
The more forcible stress of voice, is called the _Primary Accent_; and
the less forcible, the _Secondary Accent_.
EXAMPLES OF PRIMARY AND SECONDARY ACCENT.
In the following examples the Primary Accent is designated by double
accentual marks, thus:
_Ed''-u-cate'_, _ed'-u-ca''-tion_, _mul''-ti-ply'_,
_mul'-ti-pli-ca''-tion_, _sat''-is-fy'_, _sat'-is-fac''-tion_,
_com'-pre-hend''_, _com'-pre-hen''-sion_, _rec'-om-mend''_,
_rec'-om-mend-a''-tion_, _mo''-ment-a'-ry_, _com-mun''-ni-cate'_,
_com'-pli-ment''-al_, _in-dem'-ni-fi-ca''-tion_,
_ex'-tem-po-ra''-ne-ous_, _coun'-ter-rev'-o-lu''-tion-a-ry_.
NOTE II.--The change of accent on the same word often changes its
meaning.
EXAMPLES.
col'-league, _a partner_.
col-league', _to unite with_.
con'-duct, _behavior_.
con-duct', _to lead_.
des'-cant, _a song or tune_.
des-cant', _to comment_.
ob'-ject, _ultimate purpose_.
ob-ject', _to oppose_.
in'-ter-dict, _a prohibition_.
in-ter-dict', _to forbid_.
o'ver-throw, _ruin; defeat_.
o-ver-throw', _to throw down_.
NOTE III.--Emphatic words are often printed in _Italics_. When, however,
different degrees of emphasis are to be denoted, the higher degrees are
designated by the use of Capitals, LARGER or SMALLER, according to the
degree of intensity.
EXAMPLES.
1. Our motto shall be, _our country_, OUR WHOLE COUNTRY, and NOTHING BUT
OUR COUNTRY.
2. _Thou Child of Joy!_ SHOUT round me: let me HEAR _thy shouts, thou
happy Shepherd Boy!_
3. Freedom calls you! _quick_, be ready,
Think of what your sires have done;
_Onward_, ONWARD! strong and steady,
Drive the tyrant to his den;
ON, and let the watchword be,
_Country_, HOME, and LIBERTY.
NOTE IV.--Emphasis, as before intimated, varies in degrees of intensity.
EXAMPLES OF INTENSIVE EMPHASIS.
1. He shook the fragment of his blade,
And shouted: "VICTORY!
_Charge_, Chester, CHARGE! _On_, Stanley, ON!"
2. A _month!_ O, for a single WEEK! I as not for _years'_, though an
AGE were _too little_ for the _much_ I have to do.
3. _Now_ for the FIGHT! _now_ for the CANNON PEAL! ONWARD! through
_blood_, and _toil_, and _cloud_, and _fire!_ _Glorious_--the SHOUT,
the SHOCK, the CRASH of STEEL, The VOLLEY'S ROLL, the ROCKET'S
BLAZING SPIRE!
4. Hear, O HEAVENS! and give ear, O EARTH!
NOTE V.--Emphasis sometimes changes the seat of accent from its ordinary
position.
EXAMPLES.
There is a difference between _pos'_sibility and _prob'_ability. And
behold, the angels of God _as'_cending and _de'_scending on it. For this
corruptible must put on _in'_corruption, and this mortal must put on
_im'_mortality. Does his conduct deserve _ap'_probation or
_rep'_robation?
NOTE VI.--There are two kinds of Emphasis:--_Absolute_ and _Antithetic_.
ABSOLUTE EMPHASIS is used to designate the important words of a
sentence, without any direct reference to other words.
EXAMPLES OF ABSOLUTE EMPHASIS.
1. Oh, speak to passion's raging tide,
_Speak_ and _say_: "PEACE, BE STILL!"
2. The UNION, it MUST and SHALL BE PRESERVED!
3. HUSH! _breathe it not aloud_,
_The wild winds must not hear it! Yet, again_,
_I tell thee_--WE ARE FREE!
KNOWLES.
4. When my country shall take her place among the nations of the
earth, THEN and not TILL then, let my epitaph be written.
EMMETT.
5. If you are MEN, _follow_ ME! STRIKE DOWN _yon guard, and gain
the mountain passes._
6. OH! _shame on us_, countrymen, SHAME _on us_ ALL,
If we CRINGE to so dastard a race.
7. This doctrine _never was received_; it NEVER CAN, _by any_
POSSIBILITY, BE RECEIVED; and, if admitted at ALL, it _must be
by_ THE TOTAL SUBVERSION OF LIBERTY!
8. Are you _Christians_, and, by upholding duelists, will you _deluge
the land with blood_, and _fill it with widows and orphans._
BEECHER.
9. LIBERTY _and_ UNION, NOW _and_ FOREVER, ONE _and_ INSEPARABLE.
WEBSTER.
10. _Treason!_ cried the speaker; _treason_, TREASON, TREASON,
reechoed from every part of the house.
11. _The war is inevitable_,--and LET IT COME! I repeat it,
Sir,--LET IT COME!
PATRICK HENRY.
12. Be we _men_,
And suffer such dishonor? MEN, and wash not
The stain away in BLOOD?
MISS MITFORD.
13. O SACRED FORMS! how _proud_ you look!
How _high_ you lift your heads into the sky!
How _huge_ you are! how _mighty_ and how _free_!
KNOWLES.
14. I shall know but _one_ country. The ends _I_ aim at, shall be "My
COUNTRY'S, my GOD'S, and TRUTH'S."
WEBSTER.
NOTE VII.--ANTITHETIC EMPHASIS is that which is founded on the contrast
of one word or clause with another.
EXAMPLES OF ANTITHETIC EMPHASIS.
1. The faults of _others_ should always remind us of our _own_.
2. He desired to _protect_ his friend, not to _injure_ him.
3. But _yesterday_, the word of Caesar might
Have stood against the world; _now_ lies he there,
And none so poor to do him reverence.
SHAKESPEARE.
4. A _good name_ is rather to be chosen than _great riches_.
BIBLE.
5. We can do nothing _against_ the truth; but _for_ the truth.
BIBLE.
6. He that is _slow to anger_, is better than the _mighty_; and he
that _ruleth his spirit_, than he that _taketh a city_.
BIBLE.
NOTE VIII.--The following examples contain two or more sets of
Antitheses.
1. _Just men_ are only _free_, the _rest_ are _slaves_.
2. _Beauty_ is like the _flower of spring; virtue_ is like the
_stars of heaven_.
3. _Truth_ crushed to earth shall _rise_ again,
The eternal years of God are hers;
But _error_, wounded, _writhes_ in pain,
And _dies_ amid her worshipers.
BRYANT.
4. A _false balance_ is _abomination to the Lord_; but a _just
weight_ is _his delight_.
BIBLE.
5. A _friend_ can not be _known_ in _prosperity;_ and an _enemy_
can not be _hidden_ in _adversity_.
6. It is my _living sentiment_, and, by the blessing of God, it
shall be my _dying sentiment:_ INDEPENDENCE NOW, and INDEPENDENCE
FOREVER.
WEBSTER.
7. We live in _deeds_, not _years_,--in _thoughts_, not _breaths_,--in
_feelings_, not in _figures on a dial_. We should count time by
_heart throbs_. He _most lives_, who THINKS THE MOST,--FEELS THE
NOBLEST,--ACTS THE BEST.
8. _You_ have done the _mischief_, and _I_ bear the _blame_.
9. The _wise man_ is happy when he gains his _own_ approbation;
the _fool_ when he gains that of _others_.
10. We must hold _them_ as we hold the _rest_ of mankind--_enemies_
in _war_,--in _peace, friends_.
JEFFERSON.
NOTE IX.--The sense of a passage is varied by changing the place of the
emphasis.
EXAMPLES.
1. Has _James_ seen his brother to-day? No; but _Charles_ has.
2. Has James _seen_ his brother to-day? No; but he has _heard_
from him.
3. Has James seen _his_ brother to-day? No; but he saw _yours_.
4. Has James seen his _brother_ to-day? No; but he has seen his
_sister_.
5. Has James seen his brother _to-day_? No; but he saw him _yesterday_.
REMARK.--To determine the emphatic words of a sentence, as well as the
_degree_ and _kind_ of emphasis to be employed, the reader must be
governed wholly by the _sentiment_ to be expressed. The idea is
sometimes entertained that emphasis consists merely in _loudness_ of
tone. But it should be borne in mind that the most _intense_ emphasis
may often be effectively expressed, even by a whisper.
SECTION III.
INFLECTIONS.
INFLECTIONS are turns or slides of the voice, made in reading or
speaking; as; Will you go to New [Transcriber's Note: Two missing lines
in printing, page 25 in original.] or to [Transcriber's Note: Remainder
of paragraph is missing.]
All the various sounds of the human voice may be comprehended under the
general appellation of _tones_. The principal modifications of these
tones are the MONOTONE, the RISING INFLECTION, the FALLING INFLECTION,
and the CIRCUMFLEX.
The Horizontal Line (--) denotes the Monotone.
The Rising Slide (/) denotes the Rising Inflection.
The Falling Slide (\) denotes the Falling Inflection.
The Curve (\_/) denotes the Circumflex.
The MONOTONE is that sameness of sound, which arises from repeating the
several words or syllables of a passage in one and the same general
tone.
REMARK.--The Monotone is employed with admirable effect in the delivery
of a passage that is solemn or sublime.
EXAMPLES.
1. O thou that rollest above, round as the shield of my fathers: whence
are thy beams, O sun, thy everlasting light? OSSIAN.
2.
'Tis midnight's holy hour, and silence now
Is brooding, like a gentle spirit, o'er
The still and pulseless world. Hark! on the winds
The bells' deep tones are swelling; 'tis the knell
Of the departed year.
PRENTICE.
3. God came from Teman, and the Holy One from Mount Paran. Selah. His
glory covered the heavens, and the earth was full of His praise.
4. Before Him went the pestilence, and burning coals went forth at His
feet. He stood and measured the earth: He beheld, and drove asunder the
nations; and the everlasting mountains were scattered, the perpetual
hills did bow: His ways are everlasting. BIBLE.
5. The heavens declare the glory of God, and the firmament showeth His
handy work. Day unto day uttereth speech, and night unto night showeth
knowledge. There is no speech nor language, where their voice is not
heard. ID.
6.
How brief is life! how passing brief!
How brief its joys and cares!
It seems to be in league with time,
And leaves us unawares.
7. The thunder rolls: be hushed the prostrate world,
While cloud to cloud returns the solemn hymn. THOMSON.
REMARK.--The inappropriate use of the monotone,--a fault into which
young people naturally fall,--is a very grave and obstinate error. It is
always tedious, and often even ridiculous. It should be studiously
avoided.
The RISING INFLECTION is an upward turn, or slide of the voice, used in
reading or speaking; as,
s?
n/
o/
s/
s/
e/
Are you prepared to recite your l/
The FALLING INFLECTION is a downward turn, or slide of the voice, used
in reading or speaking; as,
\d
\o
\i
\n
What are you \g?
In the falling inflection, the voice should not sink below the _general
pitch_; but in the rising inflection, it is raised above it.
The two inflections may be illustrated by the following diagrams:
1.
\i
\m
y, \p \p
l/ \r \r
t/ \u \u
n/ \d \d
e/ \e \e
d/ \n \n
u/ \t \t
r/ \l \l
Did he act p/ or \y? He acted \y.
2.
\u
\n
y, \w \w
l/ \i \i
g/ \l \l
n/ \l \l
i/ \i \i
l/ \n \n
l/ \g \g
i/ \l \l
Did they go w/ or \y? They went \y.
3.
r,
e/
h/
g/
i/
If the flight of Dryden is h/ Pope continues longer on the
r,
e/
t/
h/
\w g/
\i i/
\n r/
\g. If the blaze of Dryden's fire is b/ the heat of Pope's is
\c
\o
\n
\s
\t
\a
\n
more regular and \t.
4. Is honor's lofty soul forever fled'?
Is virtue lost'? Is martial ardor dead'?
Is there no heart where worth and valor dwell'?
No patriot WALLACE'? No undaunted TELL'?
Yes`, Freedom, yes`! thy sons, a noble band,
Around thy banner, firm, exulting stand`.
REMARK.--The same _degree_ of inflection is not, at all times, used, or
indicated by the notation. The due degree to be employed, depends on the
_nature_ of what is to be expressed. For example; if a person, under
great excitement, asks another:
t?
s
e
n
r
a
Are you in e the degree of inflection would be much greater,
t?
s
e
n
r
a
than if he playfully asks: Are you in e The former
inflection may be called _intensive_, the latter, _common_.
RULES FOR THE USE OF INFLECTIONS.
RULE I.
Direct questions, or those which may be answered by _yes_ or _no_,
usually take the rising inflection; but their answers, generally, the
falling.
EXAMPLES.
1. Will you meet me at the depot'? Yes`; or, I will`.
2. Did you intend to visit Boston'? No`; or, I did not`.
3. Can you explain this difficult sentence'? Yes`; I can.
4. Are they willing to remain at home'? They are`.
5. Is this a time for imbecility and inaction'? By no means`.
6. King Agrippa, believest thou the prophets'? I know that thou
believest`.
7. Were the tribes of this country, when first discovered, making any
progress in arts and civilization'? By no means`.
8. To purchase heaven has gold the power'?
Can gold remove the mortal hour'?
In life, can love be bought with gold'?
Are friendship's pleasures to be sold'?
No`; all that's worth a wish, a thought,
Fair virtue gives unbribed, unbought.
9. What would content you`? Talents'? No`. Enterprise'? No`. Courage'?
No`. Reputation'? No`. Virtue'? No`. The man whom you would select,
should possess not one, but all of these`.
NOTE I.--When the direct question becomes an appeal, and the reply to it
is anticipated, it takes the intense _falling_ inflection.
EXAMPLES.
1. _Is_` he not a bold and eloquent speaker`?
2. _Can_` such inconsistent measures be adopted`?
3. _Did_` you ever hear of such cruel barbarities`?
4. _Is_ this reason`? _Is_` it law`? _Is_ it humanity`?
5. _Was_` not the gentleman's argument conclusive`?
RULE II.
Indirect questions, or those which can not be answered by _yes_ or _no_,
usually take the _falling_ inflection, and their answers the same.
1. How far did you travel yesterday`? Forty miles`.
2. Which of you brought this beautiful bouquet`? Julia`.
3. Where do you intend to spend the summer`? At Saratoga`.
4. When will Charles graduate at college`? Next year`.
5. What is one of the most delightful emotions of the heart`? Gratitude`.
NOTE I.--When the indirect question is one asking a repetition of what
was not, at first, understood, it takes the _rising_ inflection.
EXAMPLES.
1. When do you expect to return? Next week.
When_ did you say'? Next week.
2. _Where_ did you say William had gone'? To New York.
NOTE II.--Answers to questions, whether direct or indirect, when
expressive of indifference, take the _rising_ inflection, or the
circumflex.
EXAMPLES.
1. Did you admire his discourse? Not much'.
2. Which way shall we walk? I am not particular'.
3. Can Henry go with us? If he chooses'.
4. What color do you prefer? I have no particular choice'.
NOTE III.--In some instances, direct questions become indirect by a
change of the inflection from the rising to the falling.
EXAMPLES.
1. Will you come to-morrow' or next day'? Yes.
2. Will you come to-morrow,' or next day`? I will come to-morrow.
REMARK.--The first question asks if the person addressed will _come_
within the two days, and may be answered by _yes_ or _no_; but the
second asks on _which_ of the two days he will come, and it can not be
thus answered.
RULE III.
When questions are connected by the conjunction _or_, the first requires
the _rising_, and the second, the _falling_ inflection.
EXAMPLES.
1. Does he study for amusement', or improvement`?
2. Was he esteemed for his wealth', or for his wisdom`?
3. Sink' or swim`, live' or die`, survive' or perish`, I give my hand
and heart to this vote. WEBSTER.
4. Is it lawful to do good on the Sabbath-days', or to do evil`? to save
life', or to kill`?
5. Was it an act of moral courage', or cowardice`, for Cato to fall on
his sword`?
RULE IV. Antithetic terms or clauses usually take opposite inflections;
generally, the former has the _rising_, and the latter the _falling_
inflection.
EXAMPLES.
1. If you seek to make one rich, study not to increase his stores' but
to diminish his desires`.
2. They have mouths',--but they speak not`:
Eyes have they',--but they see not`:
They have ears',--but they hear not`:
Noses have they',--but they smell not`:
They have hands',--but they handle not`:
Feet have they',--but they walk not`.
BIBLE.
NOTE I.--When one of the antithetic clauses is a _negative_, and the
other an _affirmative_, generally the negative has the _rising_, and
the affirmative the _falling_ inflection.
EXAMPLES.
1. I said an elder soldier` not a better'.
2. His acts deserve punishment` rather than commiseration'.
3. This is no time for a tribunal of justice', but for showing mercy`;
not for accusation', but for philanthropy`; not for trial', but for
pardon`; not for sentence and execution', but for compassion and
kindness`.
RULE V. The Pause of Suspension, denoting that the sense is incomplete,
usually has the _rising_ inflection.
EXAMPLES.
1. Although the fig tree shall not blossom', neither shall fruit be in
the vine'; the labor of the olive shall fail', and the fields shall
yield no meat'; the flocks shall be cut off from the fold', and there
shall be no herd in the stalls'; yet will I rejoice in the Lord`, I will
joy in the God of my salvation`. BIBLE.
NOTE I.--The ordinary direct address, not accompanied with strong
emphasis, takes the _rising_ inflection, on the principle of the pause
of suspension.
EXAMPLES.
1. Men', brethren', and fathers', hear ye my defense which I make now
unto you. BIBLE.
2. Ye living flowers', that skirt the eternal frost'!
Ye wild goats', sporting round the eagle's nest'!
Ye eagles', playmates of the mountain storm'!
Ye lightnings', the dread arrows of the clouds'!
Ye signs' and wonders' of the elements'!
Utter forth GOD`, and fill the hills with praise`!
COLERIDGE.
NOTE II.--In some instances of a pause of suspension, the sense requires
an intense _falling_ inflection.
EXAMPLE.
1. The prodigal, if he does not become a _pauper_`, will, at least, have
but little to bestow on others.
REMARK.--If the _rising_ inflection is given on _pauper_, the sense
would be perverted, and the passage made to mean, that, in order to be
able to bestow on others, it is necessary that he should become a
pauper.
RULE VI. Expressions of tenderness, as of grief, or kindness, commonly
incline the voice to the _rising_ inflection.
EXAMPLES.
1. Mother',--I leave thy dwelling';
Oh! shall it be forever'?
With grief my heart is swelling',
From thee',--from thee',--to sever'.
2. O my son Absalom'! my son', my son Absalom'! Would God I had died for
thee', Absalom', my son', my son'! BIBLE.
RULE VII. The Penultimate Pause, or the last but one, of a passage, is
usually preceded by the _rising_ inflection.
EXAMPLES.
1. Diligence`, industry`, and proper improvement of time', are material
duties of the young`.
2. These through faith subdued kingdoms`, wrought righteous-ness`,
obtained promises`, stopped the mouths of lions`, quenched the violence
of fire`, escaped the edge of the sword`, out of weakness were made
strong`, waxed valiant in fight', turned to flight the armies of the
aliens`.
REMARK.--The rising inflection is employed at the penultimate pause in
order to promote variety, since the voice generally falls at the end of
a sentence.
RULE VIII. Expressions of strong emotion, as of anger or surprise, and
also the language of authority and reproach, are expressed with the
_falling_ inflection.
EXAMPLES.
1. On YOU`, and on your CHILDREN`, be the peril of the innocent blood
which shall be shed this day`.
2. What a piece of workmanship is MAN`! How noble in REASON`! How
infinite in FACULTIES`!
3. O FOOLS`! and _slow of heart_ to believe all that the prophets have
written concerning me`! BIBLE.
4. HENCE`, HOME`, _you idle creatures_`, GET YOU HOME`, YOU BLOCKS`, YOU
STONES`, YOU WORSE THAN USELESS THINGS`!
5. Avaunt`! and quit my sight`! let the earth hide thee`! Thy bones are
marrowless`; thou hast no speculation in thine eyes which thou dost
glare` with. SHAKSPEARE.
6. Slave, do thy office`! Strike`, as I struck the foe`!
Strike`, as I would have struck the tyrants`!
Strike deep as my curse`! Strike`, and but once`! ID.
RULE IX. An emphatic succession of particulars, and emphatic repetition,
require the _falling_ inflection.
EXAMPLES.
1. _Beware_` what earth calls happiness; BEWARE`
All joys but joys that never can expire`.
2. A great mind`, a great heart`, a great orator`, a great career`, have
been consigned to history`. BUTLER.
REMARK.--The stress of voice on each successive particular, or
repetition, should gradually be increased as the subject advances.
The CIRCUMFLEX is a union of the two inflections on the same word,
beginning either with the _falling_ and ending with the _rising_, or
with the _rising_ and ending with the _falling_; as, If he goes to ____
I shall go to ____.
The circumflex is mainly employed in the language of irony, and in
expressing ideas implying some condition, either expressed or
understood.
EXAMPLES.
1. You, a beardless youth, pretend to teach a British general.
2. What! shear a wolf? a prowling wolf?
3. My father's trade? ah, really, that's too bad!
My father's trade? Why, blockhead, are you mad?
My father, sir, did never stoop so low,--
He was a gentleman, I'd have you know.
4. What! confer a crown on the author of the public calamities?
5. But you are very wise men, and deeply learned in the truth; we are
weak, contemptible, mean persons.
6. They pretend they come to improve our state, enlarge our thoughts,
and free us from error.
7. But youth, it seems, is not my only crime; I have been accused of
acting a theatrical part.
8. And this man has become a god and Cassius a wretched creature.
SECTION IV.
MODULATION.
MODULATION implies those variations of the voice, heard in reading or
speaking, which are prompted by the feelings and emotions that the
subject inspires.
EXAMPLES.
EXPRESSIVE OF COURAGE AND CHIVALROUS EXCITEMENT.
FULL .- Once more unto the breach, dear friends, _once more_,
TONE '- Or close the wall up with our English dead!
MIDDLE .- In peace, there's nothing so becomes a man,
TONE '- As modest stillness and humility;
.- But when the blast of war blows in our ears,
SHORT | Then imitate the action of the tiger;
AND + Stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood,
QUICK '- Disguise fair nature with hard-favored rage.
.- _On_, ON, you noblest English,
HIGH | Whose blood is fetched from fathers of war-proof!
AND + _Fathers_, that, like so many Alexanders,
LOUD | Have, in these parts, from morn till even fought,
'- And sheathed their swords for lack of argument.
QUICK .- I see you stand like greyhounds in the slips,
AND | Straining upon the start. The game's afoot;
VERY + Follow your spirits, and, upon this charge,
LOUD '- CRY--HEAVEN FOR HARRY! ENGLAND! AND ST. GEORGE!
SHAKSPEARE.
REMARK.--To read the foregoing example in one dull, monotonous tone of
voice, without regard to the sentiment expressed, would render the
passage extremely insipid and lifeless. But by a proper modulation of
the voice, it infuses into the mind of the reader or hearer the most
animating and exciting emotions.
The voice is modulated in _three_ different ways. _First_, it is varied
in PITCH; that is, from _high_ to _low_ tones, and the reverse.
_Secondly_, it is varied in QUANTITY, or in _loudness_ or _volume_ of
sound. _Thirdly_, it is varied in QUALITY, or in the _kind_ of sound
expressed.
PITCH OF VOICE.
Pitch of voice has reference to its degree of elevation.
Every person, in reading or speaking, assumes a certain pitch, which may
be either _high_ or _low_, according to circumstances, and which has a
governing influence on the variations of the voice, above and below it.
This degree of elevation is usually called the KEY NOTE.
As an exercise in varying the voice in pitch, the practice of uttering a
sentence on the several degrees of elevation, as represented in the
following scale, will be found beneficial. First, utter the musical
syllables, then the vowel sound, and lastly, the proposed
sentence,--ascending and descending.
---------8.--do--#--_e_-in-m_e_.---Virtue alone survives.----
7. si # _i_ in d_i_e. Virtue alone survives.
-------6.--la--#--_o_-in-d_o_.---Virtue alone survives.------
5. sol # _o_ in n_o_. Virtue alone survives.
-----4.--fa--#--_a_-in-_a_t.---Virtue alone survives.--------
3. mi # _a_-in _a_te. Virtue alone survives.
---2.--re--#--_a_-in-f_a_r.--Virtue alone survives.----------
1. do # _a_ in _a_ll. Virtue alone survives
Although the voice is capable of as many variations in speaking, as are
marked on the musical scale, yet for all the purposes of ordinary
elocution, it will be sufficiently exact if we make but _three_ degrees
of variation, viz., the _Low_, the _Middle_, and the _High_.
1. THE LOW PITCH is that which falls below the usual speaking key, and
is employed in expressing emotions of _sublimity_, _awe_, and
_reverence_.
EXAMPLE.
Silence, how dead! darkness, how profound!
Nor eye, nor list'ning ear, an object finds;
Creation sleeps. 'Tis as the general pulse
Of life stood still, and Nature made a pause.--
An awful pause! prophetic of her end.
YOUNG.
2. THE MIDDLE PITCH is that usually employed in common conversation, and
in expressing _unimpassioned thought_ and _moderate emotion_.
EXAMPLES.
1. It was early in a summer morning, when the air was cool, the earth
moist, the whole face of the creation fresh and gay, that I lately
walked in a beautiful flower garden, and, at once, regaled the senses
and indulged the fancy. HERVEY.
2.
"_I love to live_," said a prattling boy,
As he gayly played with his new-bought toy,
And a merry laugh went echoing forth,
From a bosom filled with joyous mirth.
3. THE HIGH PITCH is that which rises above the usual speaking key, and
is used in expressing _joyous_ and _elevated feelings_.
EXAMPLE.
Higher, _higher_, EVER HIGHER,--
Let the watchword be "ASPIRE!"
Noble Christian youth;
Whatsoe'er be God's behest,
Try to do that duty best,
In the strength of Truth.
M.F. TUPPER.
QUANTITY.
QUANTITY is two-fold;--consisting in FULLNESS or VOLUME of sound, as
_soft_ or _loud_; and in TIME, as _slow_ or _quick_. The former has
reference to STRESS; the latter, to MOVEMENT.
The degrees of variation in quantity are numerous, varying from a
slight, soft whisper to a vehement shout. But for all practical
purposes, they may be considered as _three_, the same as in pitch;--the
_soft_, the _middle_, and the _loud_.
For exercise in quantity, let the pupil read any sentence, as,
"Beauty is a fading flower,"
first in a slight, soft tone, and then repeat it, gradually increasing
in quantity to the full extent of the voice. Also, let him read it first
very slowly, and then repeat it, gradually increasing the movement. In
doing this, he should be careful not to vary the pitch.
In like manner, let him repeat any vowel sound, or all of them, and also
inversely. Thus:
[Illustration]
[Transcriber's Note: The illustration is a row of the letter "O,"
increasing in size across the page, followed by a row of the letter "O"
decreasing in size. The presumed intent is to convey loudness.]
REMARK.--Quantity is often mistaken for Pitch. But it should be borne in
mind that quantity has reference to _loudness_ or _volume_ of sound, and
pitch to the _elevation_ or _depression_ of a tone. The difference may
be distinguished by the slight and heavy strokes on a bell;--both of
which produce sounds alike in _pitch_; but they differ in _quantity_ or
_loudness_, in proportion as the strokes are light or heavy.
RULES FOR QUANTITY.
1. SOFT, OR SUBDUED TONES, are those which range from a whisper to a
complete vocality, and are used to express _fear_, _caution_, _secrecy_,
_solemnity_, and all _tender emotions_.
EXAMPLES.
1.
We watched her breathing through the night,
Her breathing soft and low,
As in her breast the wave of life
Kept heaving to and fro. HOOD.
2.
Softly, peacefully,
Lay her to rest;
Place the turf lightly,
On her young breast. D.E. GOODMAN.
3.
The loud wind dwindled to a whisper low,
And sighed for pity as it answered,--"No."
2. A MIDDLE TONE, or medium loudness of voice, is employed in reading
_narrative_, _descriptive_, or _didactic sentences_.
EXAMPLE.
I love my country's pine-clad hills,
Her thousand bright and gushing rills,
Her sunshine and her storms;
Her rough and rugged rocks that rear
Their hoary heads high in the air,
In wild fantastic forms.
3. A LOUD TONE, or fullness and stress of voice, is used in expressing
_violent passions_ and _vehement emotions_.
EXAMPLES.
1.
STAND! _the ground's your own_, my braves,--
Will ye give it up to _slaves_?
Will ye look for _greener graves_?
Hope ye mercy still?
What's the mercy _despots_ feel?
Hear it in that _battle-peal_,--
Read it on yon bristling steel,
Ask it--_ye who will!_ PIERPONT.
2.
"HOLD!" Tyranny cries; but their resolute breath
Sends back the reply: "INDEPENDENCE or DEATH!"
QUALITY.
QUALITY has reference to _the kind of sound_ uttered.
Two sounds may be alike in quantity and pitch, yet differ in quality.
The sounds produced on the clarinet and flute may agree in pitch and
quantity, yet be unlike in quality. The same is true in regard to the
tones of the voice of two individuals. This difference is occasioned
mainly by the different positions of the vocal organs.
The qualities of voice mostly used in reading or speaking, and which
should receive the highest degree of culture, are the _Pure Tone_, the
_Orotund_, the _Aspirated_, and the _Guttural_.
RULES FOR QUALITY.
1. THE PURE TONE is a clear, smooth, sonorous flow of sound, usually
accompanied with the middle pitch of voice, and is adapted to express
emotions of _joy, cheerfulness, love_, and _tranquillity_.
EXAMPLE.
Hail! beauteous stranger of the wood,
Attendant on the spring,
Now heaven repairs thy vernal seat,
And woods thy welcome sing.
2. THE OROTUND is a full, deep, round, and pure tone of voice,
peculiarly adapted in expressing _sublime_ and _pathetic emotions_.
EXAMPLE.
It thunders! Sons of dust, in reverence bow!
Ancient of Days! Thou speakest from above:
Almighty! trembling, like a timid child,
I hear thy awful voice. Alarmed--afraid--
I see the flashes of thy lightning wild,
And in the very grave would hide my head.
3. THE ASPIRATED TONE of voice is not a pure, vocal sound, but rather a
forcible breathing utterance, and is used to express _amazement, fear,
terror, anger, revenge, remorse_, and _fervent emotions_.
EXAMPLE.
Oh, coward conscience, how dost thou affright me!
The lights burn blue. It is now dead midnight;
Cold, fearful drops stand on my trembling flesh.
4. THE GUTTURAL QUALITY is a deep, aspirated tone of voice, used to
express _aversion, hatred, loathing_, and _contempt_.
EXAMPLE.
Tell me I _hate_ the bowl?
HATE is a feeble word:
I _loathe_, ABHOR, my very soul
With strong disgust is stirred,
Whene'er I see, or hear, or tell,
Of the dark beverage of hell.
NOTATION IN MODULATION.
(o) high.
(oo) high and loud.
([o]) low.
([oo]) low and loud.
(=) quick.
(_''_) short and quick.
(_sl_.) slow.
(_p_.) soft.
(_pp_.) very soft.
(_f_.) loud.
(_ff_.) very loud.
(_pl_.) plaintive.
() decrease.
EXAMPLES FOR EXERCISE IN MODULATION.
(_p_.) Soft is the strain when zephyr gently blows,
And the smooth stream in smoother numbers flows;
(_f_.) But when loud surges lash the sounding shore,
The hoarse rough verse should like the torrent roar.
(_sl_.) When Ajax strives some rock's vast weight to throw,
The line, too, labors, and the words move slow:
(=) Not so, when swift Camilla scours the plain,
Flies o'er the unbending corn, and skims along the main. POPE.
(o=) Go ring the bells and fire the guns,
And fling the starry banner out;
(_ff_.) Shout "FREEDOM" till your lisping ones
Give back the cradle shout. WHITTIER.
(_pl_.) "And now, farewell! 'Tis hard to give thee up,
With death so like a gentle slumber on thee!--
And thy dark sin!--oh! I could drink the cup
If from this woe its bitterness had won thee.
May God have called thee, like a wanderer, home,
My lost boy, Absalom!" WILLIS.
(_sl_.) The sun hath set in folded clouds,--
Its twilight rays are gone,
(o) And, gathered in the shades of night,
The storm is rolling on.
(_pl_.) Alas! how ill that bursting storm
(>) The fainting spirit braves,
(_p_.) When they,--the lovely and the lost,--
(_pl_.) Are gone to early graves!
(o) On! onward still! o'er the land he sweeps,
(>) With wreck, and ruin, and rush, and roar,
Nor stops to look back
On his dreary track
(_''_) But speeds to the spoils before. MISS J.H. LEWIS.
From every battle-field of the revolution--from Lexington and Bunker
Hill--from Saratoga and Yorktown--from the fields of Entaw--from the
cane-brakes that sheltered the men of Marion--the repeated,
long-prolonged echoes came up--(_f_.) "THE UNION: IT MUST BE PRESERVED"
() Receding now, the dying numbers ring
(_p_.) Fainter and fainter, down the rugged dell:
(_pp_.) And now 'tis silent all--enchantress, fare thee well.
(=) Oh, joy to the world! the hour is come,
When the nations to freedom awake,
When the royalists stand agape and dumb,
And monarchs with terror shake!
Over the walls of majesty,
"Upharsin" is writ in words of fire,
And the eyes of the bondmen, wherever they be,
Are lit with their wild desire.
(To your blood 'tis a busy fan,
How can the flame burn dim?
It tensely draws your sturdy nerves,--
No bow's without a string,
And when nor bow nor bow-string swerves,
An arrow's on the wing.
6. There is a magic in the power
Of an unbending _will_,
That makes us stronger every hour,
For greater efforts still.
Then banish from you every CAN'T,
And show yourself a MAN,
And nothing will your purpose daunt,
Led by the brave "I CAN!"
QUESTIONS.--1. What does "_I can_" do? 2. Who is called his twin
brother? 3. What is said of an unbending will?
* * * * *
LESSON LVI.
CAS' ED, invested.
ARM' OR, defensive arms.
STORM' ING, taking by assault.
AIR' Y, fanciful; visionary.
FOR' TRESS, fort; strong-hold.
DE TAIN', hinder; keep back.
WEAP' ONS, instruments for defense, or offense.
UN WOR' THY, undeserving.
RE GRET', sorrow for the past.
PHAN' TOM, specter; ghost-like.
SCARCE' LY, hardly.
NOW, TO-DAY.
ADELAIDE A. PROCTER.
1. ARISE`! for the day is passing,
And you lie dreaming on;
Your brothers are cased in armor,
And forth to the fight are gone!
A place in the ranks awaits you;
Each man has some part to play;
The Past and the Future are nothing
In the face of stern TO-DAY.
2. ARISE from your dreams of the Future,--
Of gaining some hard-fought field,
Of storming some airy fortress,
Or bidding some giant yield;
Your Future has deeds of glory,
Of honor, (God grant it may!)
But your arm will never be stronger,
Or needed as _now_,--TO-DAY.
3. ARISE`! if the Past detain you,
Her sunshine and storms forget;
No chains so unworthy to hold you
As those of a vain regret;
Sad or bright, she is lifeless ever;
Cast her phantom arms away,
Nor look back, save to learn the lesson
Of a nobler strife TO-DAY.
4. ARISE`! for the day is passing;
The sound that you scarcely hear,
Is the enemy marching to battle!
(f.) _Rise_`! RISE`! for the foe is near!
Stay not to sharpen your weapons,
Or the hour will strike at last,
When, from dreams of a coming battle,
You may wake to find it past!
QUESTIONS.--1. What reasons are assigned why we should arouse to effort
_now, to-day?_ 2. What rule for the falling inflection on _arise?_ See
Rule VIII., page 33. 3. How, according to the notation mark, should the
last verse be read?
* * * * *
LESSON LVII.
REV O LU' TION, change of government.
FAN' CI ED, thought; imagined,
UN GEN' ER OUS, mean; ignoble.
AC KNOWL' EDG ED, owned.
PLOT' TING, planning; contriving.
DE SIGN', purpose; intention.
COR RE SPOND' ENCE, intercourse by letters.
CON' QUEST, victory.
IN' TER VIEW, meeting; conference.
SOL' I TA RY, lonely; retired.
CON GRAT' U LA TING, rejoicing with.
IS' SU ED, started up; come forth.
SUS PECT' ING, mistrusting.
DE TECT' ED, exposed; found out.
A' MI A BLE, lovely; agreeable.
FEL' ON, criminal.
CON' SE QUENCE, (CON, _with_; SEQUENCE, _a following_,) a following
with, as an effect, or result.
IM PRESS' IVE, (IM, _in_; PRESS, _to bear upon_; IVE, _tending to_,)
tending to press in, or upon; producing an effect.
IN VOLV' ED, (IN, _in_; VOLVED, _rolled_,) rolled in; enveloped.
THE CAPTURE OF MAJOR ANDRE.
1. One of the saddest events in the history of the American Revolution
is the _treason of Arnold_, and, in consequence of it, _the death of
Major Andre_. Arnold was an officer in the American army, who, though
brave, had a proud and impatient spirit.
2. He fancied he had not all the honor and the pay due for his services,
and, having plunged himself into debt by his expensive style of living,
these things soured his heart; and, as is the case with ungenerous
minds, he never acknowledged a fault, or forgave an injury. More than
this, he sought revenge against his countrymen by plotting _treason
against his country_.
3. Soon after forming this bad design, he opened a secret correspondence
with the English General, Henry Clinton, and, at the same time, asked
General Washington to give him the command of West Point, an important
post on the Hudson river. Washington let him have it, and this he
determined to betray into the hands of the enemy, provided he could make
out of it a good bargain for himself.
4. He wrote to General Clinton what he would do, and asked to have a
secret interview with some English officer, in order to agree upon the
terms. General Clinton was delighted; for he thought an army divided
against itself, must prove an easy conquest; and he asked Major Andre, a
gallant young officer, to meet Arnold, and settle the price of his
treason.
5. Andre did not wish to engage in such business; but he obeyed, and
went up the Hudson in an English sloop-of-war for this purpose. Arnold
agreed to meet him at a certain spot, and when night came on, sent a
little boat to bring him ashore. He landed at the foot of a mountain
called the Long Clove, on the western side of the river, a few miles
from Haverstraw, where he found the traitor hid in a clump of bushes.
6. Little did poor Andre foresee the fatal consequences of this step.
All that still star-light night they sat and talked; daylight came, and
the business was not concluded. Arnold dismissed the boatmen, and led
his companion to a solitary farm-house on the river's bank, where the
papers were finally drawn up, and hid in one of Andre's stockings. Andre
felt how exposed he was to danger in the enemy's country, and heartily
wished himself back to the sloop.
7. Forced now, however, to go by land, Arnold gave him a pass to go
through the American lines; and, at sunset, he set off, on horseback,
with a guide. They crossed the river, and, getting along on their
dangerous journey with but few alarms, the guide left the next morning,
and Andre rode briskly on, congratulating himself upon leaving all
dangers behind, for he was rapidly nearing the English lines, when there
was a loud shout, "_Stand!_ HALT!" and three men [Footnote: Paulding,
Williams, and Van Wart.] issued from the woods, one seizing the bridle,
and the others presenting their guns.
8. Andre told them he had a pass to White Plains, on urgent business
from General Arnold, and begged them not to detain him; but the men,
suspecting that all was not right, began to search him; and, hauling off
his boots, they discovered his papers in his stockings.
9. Finding himself detected, he offered them any sum of money, if they
would let him go. "No;" answered the sturdy men, "not if you would give
us ten thousand guineas;" for, though poor, they were above selling
their country at any price. Andre was sent a prisoner to General
Washington's camp. Arnold, on learning the news of his capture,
immediately fled from West Point, and made his escape to the English
sloop.
10. According to the rules of war, poor Andre was sentenced to the death
of a spy. Great efforts were made to save him. General Clinton offered a
large sum to redeem him. So young, so amiable, so gallant, and to meet a
felon's doom! but, in ten days he was hung.
11. Arnold lived; but, with the thirty thousand dollars--the price of
his treachery--he lived a miserable man, despised even by those who
bought him. And one impressive lesson which the story teaches, is, that
_the consequences of guilt do not fall alone on the guilty man;_ others
are often involved in distress, disgrace, and ruin.
QUESTIONS.--1. What is one of the saddest events in the history of the
American Revolution? 2. Who was Arnold? 3. What reason is assigned why
he plotted treason against his country? 4. What measures did he adopt to
do this? 5. With whom, and where did he make the agreement? 6. By whom
was Andre detected? 7. What became of Andre and Arnold?
* * * * *
LESSON LVIII.
SE CUR' ED, obtained.
HES' I TA TED, paused.
MIS' ER A BLE, wretched.
SUP' PLI ANT, petitioner; beggar.
PECUL' IAR, singular; remarkable.
IN DIC' A TIVE, showing; intimating.
SO LIC' IT ED, asked; requested.
COS TUME', mode of dress.
VIG' OR OUS, stout; strong.
SYN' O NYM, a word meaning the same as some other word.
IN' FA MY, utter disgrace.
[Headnote 1: TAL' LEY RAND, a distinguished French statesman, was born
Feb. 13th, 1754. He died May 20th, 1838.]
BENEDICT ARNOLD.
1. There was a day when Talleyrand [Headnote 1] arrived in Havre, direct
from Paris. It was the darkest hour of the French Revolution. Pursued by
the blood-hounds of the Reign of Terror, stripped of every wreck of
property or power, Talleyrand secured a passage to America, in a ship
about to sail. He was a beggar and a wanderer in a strange land, to earn
his bread by daily labor.
2. "Is there an American staying at your house?" he asked the landlord
of the hotel. "I am bound to cross the water, and should like a letter
to a person of influence in the New World." The landlord hesitated a
moment, then replied: "There is a gentleman up-stairs, either from
America or Britain; but whether an American or an Englishman, I can not
tell."
3. He pointed the way, and Talleyrand, who, in his life, was Bishop,
Prince, and Prime Minister, ascended the stairs. A miserable suppliant,
he stood before the stranger's door, knocked, and entered. In the far
corner of the dimly-lighted room, sat a man of some fifty years, his
arms folded, and his head bowed on his breast. From a window directly
opposite, a faint light rested on his forehead.
4. His eyes looked from beneath the downcast brows, and gazed on
Talleyrand's face with a peculiar and searching expression. His face was
striking in outline,--the mouth and chin indicative of an iron will. His
form, vigorous, even with the snows of fifty winters, was clad in a
dark, but rich and distinguished costume.
5. Talleyrand advanced, stated that he was a fugitive; and, under the
impression that the gentleman before him was an American, he solicited
his kind and generous offices. He related his history in eloquent French
and broken English.
6. "I am a wanderer, and an exile. I am forced to flee to the New World,
without a friend or home. You are an American! Give me, then, I beseech
you, a letter of yours, so that I may be able to earn my bread. I am
willing to toil in any manner; the scenes of Paris have seized me with
such horror, that a life of labor would be a paradise to a career of
luxury in France. You will give me a letter to one of your friends? A
gentleman like yourself has, doubtless, many friends."
7. The strange gentleman rose. With a look that Talleyrand never forgot,
he retreated to the door of the next chamber,--his eyes looking still
from beneath his darkened brow. He spoke as he retreated backward,--his
voice was full of meaning. "I am the only man born in the New World, who
can raise his hand to God and say, I have not a friend, not one, in all
America!" Talleyrand never forgot the overwhelming sadness of that look
which accompanied these words.
8. "Who are you?" he cried, as the strange man retreated to the next
room: "your name?" "My name," he replied, with a smile that had more of
mockery than joy in its convulsive expression,--"my name is Benedict
Arnold!" He was gone: Talleyrand sank into his chair, gasping the words,
"ARNOLD, THE TRAITOR!"
9. Thus, you see, he wandered over the earth another Cain, with the
wanderer's mark upon his brow. Even in that secluded room, in that inn
at Havre, his crimes found him out, and forced him to tell his name:
that name the synonym of infamy. The last twenty years of his life are
covered with a cloud, from whose darkness but a few gleams of light
flash out upon the page of history.
10. The manner of his death is not exactly known; but we can not doubt
that he died utterly friendless,--that remorse pursued him to the grave,
whispering "John Andre" in his ear,--and that the memory of his course
of infamy gnawed like a canker at his heart, murmuring forever, "True to
your country, what might you have been, O ARNOLD, THE TRAITOR!"
QUESTIONS.--1. Who was Talleyrand? 2. Why was he obliged to flee from
Paris? 3. Whom did he seek at Havre? 4. Why did he wish to see the
stranger? 5. Describe the appearance of this stranger. 6. What did he
say to Talleyrand? 7. Who did the stranger prove to be? 8. What is said
of Arnold? 9. Where is Havre? 10. Where is Paris? 11. What is meant by
_New World_?
* * * * *
LESSON LIX.
LO CO MO' TIVE, steam-engine to propel rail-cars.
COL LIS' ION, (_s_ like _zh_,) shock; violent contact.
EN GIN EER', one who manages an engine.
PRE CIP' I TA TED, thrown headlong.
RE-EN FORCE' MENTS, additional forces.
OB' STI NATE, unyielding.
CORPS, (_kore_,) body of troops.
BANK' RUPT CY, insolvency.
E NOR' MOUS, immense; very large.
AS' SETS, amounts due.
RE MIT' TANCE, money remitted.
PRE SERV' ED, secured; saved.
MA TU' RI TY, time of payment.
RE PRIEVE', respite.
IN SOLV' ENT, one unable to pay his debts.
PROV O CA' TION, incitement to anger.
IG NO MIN' I OUS, disgraceful.
SAC RI FIC' ED, (_c_ like _z_,) thrown away.
BEHIND TIME.
FREEMAN HUNT.
1. A railroad train was rushing along at almost lightning speed. A curve
was just ahead, beyond which was a station, at which the cars usually
passed each other. The conductor was late,--so late that the period
during which the down train was to wait, had nearly elapsed: but he
hoped yet to pass the curve safely. Suddenly, a locomotive dashed into
sight right ahead. In an instant, there was a collision. A shriek, a
shock, and fifty souls were in eternity; and all because an engineer had
been _behind time_.
2. A great battle was going on. Column after column had been
precipitated for eight mortal hours on the enemy posted along the ridge
of a hill. The summer sun was sinking to the west; re-enforcements for
the obstinate defenders were already in sight; it was necessary to carry
the position with one final charge, or every thing would be lost. A
powerful corps had been summoned from across the country, and, if it
came up in season, all would yet be right. The great conqueror,
confident in its arrival, formed his reserve into an attacking column,
and led them down the hill. The whole world knows the result. Grouchy
[Footnote: Pronounced _Groo' shee_.] failed to appear; the imperial
guard was beaten back; Waterloo was lost. Napoleon died a prisoner at
St. Helena, because one of his marshals was _behind time_.
3. A leading firm, in commercial circles had long struggled against
bankruptcy. As it had enormous assets in California, it expected
remittances by a certain day; and if the sums promised arrived, its
credit, its honor, and its future prosperity would be preserved. But
week after week elapsed without bringing the gold. At last, came the
fatal day on which the firm had bills maturing to enormous amounts. The
steamer was telegraphed at daybreak; but it was found on inquiry that
she brought no funds; and the house failed. The next arrival brought
nearly half a million to the insolvents, but it was too late; they were
ruined, because their agent, in remitting, had been _behind time_.
4. A condemned man was led out for execution, he had taken human life,
but under circumstances of the greatest provocation, and public sympathy
was active in his behalf. Thousands had signed petitions for a reprieve,
a favorable answer had been expected the night before, and, though it
had not come, even the sheriff felt confident that it would yet arrive
in season. Thus the morning passed without the appearance of the
messenger. The last moment was up. The prisoner took his place on the
drop, the cap was drawn over his eyes, the bolt was drawn, and a
lifeless body hung suspended in the air. Just at that moment a horseman
came into sight, galloping down the hill, his steed covered with foam.
He carried a packet in his right hand, which he waved to the crowd. He
was the express rider with the reprieve. But he had come too late. A
comparatively innocent man had died an ignominious death, because a
watch had been five minutes too slow, making its bearer arrive _behind
time_.
5. It is continually so in life. The best laid plans, the most important
affairs, the fortunes of individuals, the wealth of nations, honor,
happiness, life itself, are daily sacrificed because somebody is "behind
time." There are men who always fail in whatever they undertake, simply
because they are "behind time." Five minutes in a crisis are worth
years. It is but a little period, yet it has often saved a fortune, or
redeemed a people. If there is one virtue that should be cultivated more
than another by him who would succeed in life, it is _punctuality_; if
there is one error that should be avoided, it is being _behind time_.
QUESTIONS.--1. What sad results are mentioned, in consequence of being
_behind time?_ 2. What virtue should be cultivated, and what error
avoided? 3. What is the use of the hyphen in the word _re-enforcements?_
See SANDERS' NEW SPELLER, page 165.
* * * * *
LESSON LX.
TWIN' ED, interwoven.
GAR' LAND, wreath of flowers.
MUS' ED, thought; meditated.
AN TIQUE', (_an teek'_,) ancient.
MOLD, shape; form.
RARE, scarce; seldom seen.
SOOTH ED, calmed; quieted.
THROB' BED, beat; palpitated.
CO' ZY, snug; comfortable.
EBB' ED, flowed back.
JOUR' NEY, travel.
LONG' ING, earnestly desiring.
TIE, bond of affection.
RIV' EN, torn asunder.
"HOW HAPPY I'LL BE."
1. A little girl sat amid the flowers,
In the blush and bloom of childhood's hours;
She twined the buds in a garland fair,
And bound them up in her shining hair:
"Ah, me!" said she, "_how happy I'll be_,
When ten years more have gone over me,
And I am a maiden with youth's bright glow
Flushing my cheek, and lighting my brow!"
2. A maiden mused in a pleasant room,
Where the air was filled with a soft perfume;
Vases were near of antique mold,
And beautiful pictures, rare and old;
And she, amid all the beauty there,
Was by far the loveliest and most fair.
"Ah, me!" said she, "_how happy I'll be_,
When my heart's own choice comes back to me,
When I proudly stand by my dear one's side,
With the thrilling joy of a youthful bride!"
3. A mother bent o'er the cradle nest
Where she soothed her babe to his smiling rest;
She watched the sleep of her cherub-boy,
And her spirit throbbed with exulting joy.
"Ah, me!" said she, "_how happy I'll be_,
When he reaches manhood, proud and free,
And the world bows down, in its rapture wild,
It the earnest words of my darling child!"
4. An aged one sat by the cozy hearth,
Counting life's sands as they ebbed from earth;
Feeble and frail; the race she run
Had borne her along to the setting sun.
"Ah, me!" said she, "_how happy I'll be_,
When from time's long fever my soul is free,
When the world fades out with its weary strife,
And I soar away to a better life!"
5. 'Tis thus we journey from youth to age,
Longing to turn to another page,
Striving to hasten the years away,
Lighting our hearts with the future's ray,
Hoping on earth till its visions fade,
Wishing and waiting, through sun and shade,
But turning, when earth's last tie is riven,
To the beautiful rest of a fadeless Heaven.
QUESTIONS.--1. When did the little girl think she would be happy? 2.
What did she say when she became old? 3. What are we constantly
expecting from youth to age? 4. What is the meaning of the suffix _ing_,
in such words as _longing, striving, lighting_, &c.? See SANDERS &
McELLIGOTT'S ANALYSIS, page 134, Ex. 176.
* * * * *
LESSON LXI.
VET' ER AN, old soldier.
GRASP' ED, seized hold of.
AN' CIENT, old.
MUR' MUR, ED, uttered in a low voice.
IM MOR' TAL, imperishable.
RAG' ED, was furious.
RE MAIN', still exists.
SIRE, father.
LIGHT' EN ED, (EN, _make_; ED, _did_,) did make light.
THE SWORD OF BUNKER HILL.
WILLIAM R. WALLACE.
1. He lay upon his dying bed,
(pl.) His eye was growing dim,
When, with a feeble voice, he called
His weeping son to him:
"Weep not, my boy," the veteran said,
"I bow to Heaven's high will;
But quickly from yon antlers bring,
The sword of Bunker Hill."
2. The sword was brought; the soldier's eye
Lit with a sudden flame;
And, as he grasped the ancient blade,
He murmured Warren's[1] name;
Then said, "My boy, I leave you gold,
But what is richer still,
I leave you, mark me, mark me, now,
The sword of Bunker Hill.
3. "'Twas on that dread, immortal day,
I dared the Briton's band,
A captain raised his blade on me,
I tore it from his hand;
And while the glorious battle raged,
It lightened Freedom's will;
For, boy, the God of Freedom blessed
The sword of Bunker Hill.
4. "Oh! keep this sword," his accents broke,--
A smile--and he was dead;
But his wrinkled hand still grasped the blade,
Upon that dying bed.
The son remains, the sword remains,
Its glory growing still,
And twenty millions bless the sire
And sword of Bunker Hill.
[Footnote 1: General Warren, a brave and valuable officer, fell by a
musket-ball, while fighting the British at Bunker's Hill, June 17th,
1775.]
QUESTIONS.--1. What request did the old veteran make of his son? 2. What
bequest did he make to him? 3. How did he obtain that sword? 4. What did
he say to his son? 5. Who was Warren?
* * * * *
LESSON LXII.
LE' GEND, fictitious narrative.
MOR' TAL, deadly.
COM' BAT, battle; conflict.
PRI ME' VAL, first; primitive.
MUS' CU LAR, strong; vigorous.
CA DAV' ER OUS, pale; sickly.
REF U GEE', runaway; fugitive.
QUAR' TER, mercy; indulgence.
PIN' ION ED, confined; shackled.
A BYSS', yawning gulf.
PRO POS' AL, offer; proposition.
DI SHEV' EL ED, disordered.
IM BO' SOM ED, surrounded; inclosed.
CON FESS' ED, owned; acknowledged.
RE LENT' ING, pitying; compassionate.
RAN' DOM, venture.
SU PER STI' TION, false religious belief.
A VENGE', take satisfaction for.
UN CON' SCIOUS, unaware.
SUB LIM' I TY, grandeur.
THE BIBLE LEGEND OF THE WIS SA HI' KON.
LIPPARD.
1. It was here in the wilds of the Wis sa hi' kon, on the day of battle,
as the noonday sun came shining through the thickly clustered leaves,
that two men met in mortal combat. They grappled in deadly conflict near
a rock that rose, like the huge wreck of some primeval world, at least
one hundred feet above the dark waters of the Wis sa hi'kon.
2. That man with the dark brow and the darker gray eye,--with the
muscular form, clad in the blue hunting-frock of the Revolution,--is a
Continental, named Warner. His brother was murdered at the massacre of
Pao'li. That _other_ man, with long black hair drooping along his
cadaverous face, is clad in the half-military costume of a Tory refugee.
_That_ is the murderer of Pao'li, named Dabney.
3. They had met there in the woods by accident; and now they fought, not
with sword or rifle, but with long and deadly hunting-knives, that flash
in the light as they go turning, and twining, and twisting over the
green-sward. At last, the Tory is down!--down on the green-sward, with
the knee of the Continental upon his breast,--that up-raised knife
quivering in the light,--that dark-gray eye flashing death into his
face!
4. "Quarter! I yield!" gasped the Tory, as the knee was pressed upon his
breast. "Spare me!--I yield!"
5. "_My_ brother," said the patriot soldier, in a low tone of deadly
hate,--"_My_ brother cried for quarter on the night of Pa o' li, and,
even as he clung to your knees, you struck that knife into his heart.
Oh, I will give you the quarter of Pa o' li!" And his hand was raised
for the blow, and his teeth were clinched in deadly hate. He paused for
a moment, and then pinioned the Tory's arms, and, with one rapid stride,
dragged him to the verge of the rock, and held him quivering over the
abyss.
6. "Mercy!" gasped the Tory, turning black and ashy by turns, as that
awful gulf yawned below. "_Mercy! I have a wife! a child! spare me!_"
7. Then the Continental, with his muscular strength gathered for the
effort, shook the murderer once more over the abyss, and then hissed
this bitter sneer between his teeth,--"_My brother had a wife and two
children_. The morning after the night of Pa o' li, that wife was a
widow,--those children were orphans! Would not you like to go and beg
your life of that widow and her children?"
8. The proposal, made by the Continental in the mere mockery of hate,
was taken in serious earnest by the horror-stricken Tory. He begged to
be taken to the widow and her children, to have the pitiful privilege of
begging his life. After a moment's serious thought, the patriot soldier
consented. He bound the Tory's arms yet tighter, placed him on the rock
again, and then led him up the woods. A quiet cottage, imbosomed among
the trees, broke on their eyes.
9. They entered that cottage. There, beside the desolate hearth-stone,
sat the widow and her children. She was a matronly woman of about thirty
years, with a face faded by care, a deep, dark eye, and long, disheveled
hair about her shoulder. On one side was a dark-haired boy, of some six
years; on the other, a little girl, one year younger, with light hair
and blue eyes. The Bible, an old, venerable volume, lay open on that
mother's lap.
10. And then that pale-faced Tory flung himself on his knees, confessed
that he had butchered her husband on the night of Pa o'li, but begged
his life at her hands! _"Spare me, for the sake of my wife--my child!"_
He had expected that his pitiful moan would touch the widow's heart; but
not one relenting gleam softened her pale face.
11. "The Lord shall judge between us!" she said in a cold, icy tone,
that froze the murderer's heart. "Look! The Bible lies open before me. I
will close that volume, and then this boy shall open it, and place his
finger at random upon a line, and by _that line_ you shall live or die!"
This was a strange proposal, made in full faith of a wild and dark
superstition of the olden time. For a moment, the Tory, kneeling there,
livid as ashes, was wrapt in thought. Then, in a faltering voice, he
signified his consent.
12. Raising her dark eyes to heaven, the mother prayed the Great Father
to direct the finger of her son. She closed the book, and handed it to
that boy, whose young cheek reddened with loathing as he gazed upon his
father's murderer. He took the Bible, opened its holy pages at random,
and placed his fingers upon a verse.
13. Then there was a silence. That Continental soldier, who had sworn to
avenge his brother's death, stood there with dilating eyes and parted
lips. Then the culprit, kneeling on the floor, with a face like
discolored clay, felt his heart leap to his throat. Then, in a clear,
bold voice, the widow read this line from the Old Testament. It was
short, yet terrible: "_That man shall die!_"
14. Look! The brother springs forward to plunge a knife into the
murderer's heart; but the Tory, pinioned as he is, begs that one more
trial may be made by the little girl,--that child of five years, with
golden hair and laughing eyes. The widow consents. There is an awful
pause. With a smile in her eye, without knowing what she does, the
little girl opens the Bible,--she turns her laughing face away,--she
places her fingers upon the page.
15. That awful silence grows deeper. The deep-drawn breath of the
brother, and the broken gasps of the murderer, alone disturb the
stillness. The widow and dark-eyed boy are breathless. That little girl,
unconscious as she was, caught a feeling of awe from the countenances
around her, and stood breathless, her face turned aside, and her tiny
fingers resting on that line of life or death. At last, gathering
courage, the widow bent her eyes on the page, and read. It was a line
from the New Testament: "LOVE YOUR ENEMIES." Ah! that moment was
sublime!
16. Oh, awful Book of God! in whose dread pages we see Job talking face
to face with Jehovah, or Jesus waiting by Samaria's well, or wandering
by the waves of dark Galilee! Oh, awful Book! shining to-night, as I
speak, the light of that widow's home,--the glory of the mechanic's
shop,--shining where the world comes not, to look on the last night of
the convict in his cell, lightening the way to God, even over that dread
gibbet!
17. Oh, Book of terrible majesty and child-like love,--for sublimity
that crushes the soul into awe,--of beauty that melts the heart with
rapture! you never shone more strangely beautiful than there in the
lonely cot of the Wissa hi'kon, where you saved the murderer's life.
For,--need I tell you?--_that murderer's life was saved_. That widow
recognized the finger of God, and even the stern brother was awed into
silence. The murderer went his way.
18. Now look ye, how wonderful are the ways of Heaven! That very night,
as the widow sat by her lonely hearth, her orphans by her side,--sat
there with a crushed heart and hot eye-balls, thinking of her husband,
who, she supposed, now lay moldering on the blood-drenched soil of Pa o'
li,--there was a tap at the door. She opened it, and that husband,
living, though covered with wounds, was in her arms! He had fallen at Pa
o' li, but not in death. _He was alive_,--his wife lay panting on his
breast. That night there was a prayer in that wood-embowered cot of the
Wis sa hi' kon.
QUESTIONS.--1. What two men are said to have engaged in deadly combat?
2. Which gained the mastery? 3. What did the patriot soldier say to the
Tory, when he cried, _Quarter_? 4. What, when the Tory told him he had a
wife and child? 5. What proposal was made to him? 6. How was his fate to
be decided? 7. Was his life spared? 8. What proved the justice of the
decision?
* * * * *
LESSON LXIII.
VES' TI BULE, porch, entrance.
VI' BRATE, move to and fro.
IM MOR' TALS, undying creatures.
MON' U MENTS, memorials.
A CHIEVE', accomplish.
MU TA BLE, changeable.
IM MOR TAL' I TY, deathless existence.
IL LU' MIN ATE, enlighten.
UN DER STAND' ING, intellect.
RE AL' I TIES, truths; facts.
AS SAULTS', violent attacks.
DE SER' TION, abandonment.
IN EX HAUST' I BLE, never-failing.
CHAR' TER, title; deed.
ADVICE TO THE YOUNG.
E.H. CHAPIN.
1. Young friends', in whatever pursuits you may engage, you must not
forget that the lawful objects of human efforts, are but means to higher
results and nobler ends. Start not forward in life with the idea of
becoming mere seekers of pleasure,--sportive butterflies searching for
gaudy flowers. Consider and act with reference to the true ends of
existence.
2. This world is but the vestibule of an immortal life. Every action of
your life touches on some chord that will vibrate in eternity. These
thoughts and motives within you, stir the pulses of a deathless spirit.
Act not, then, as mere creatures of this life, who, for a little while,
are to walk the valleys and the hills, to enjoy the sunshine and to
breathe the air, and then pass away and be no more; but _act_ as
immortals, with an _aim_ and a _purpose_ worthy of your high nature.
3. Set before you, as the chief object to be obtained, an _end_ that is
superior to any on earth,--_a desirable end_, A PERFECT END. Labor to
accomplish a work which shall survive unchanged and beautiful, when time
shall have withered the garland of youth, when thrones of power and
monuments of art shall have crumbled into ashes; and, finally, aim to
achieve something, which, when these our mutable and perishing voices
are hushed forever, shall live amid the songs and triumphs of
IMMORTALITY.
4. Well will it be for you, if you have a _guide_ within, which will aid
you in every issue which will arm you in every temptation, and comfort
you in every sorrow. Consult, then, that Volume whose precepts will
never fail you. Consult it with a deep aspiration after the true and
good, and it shall illuminate your understanding with divine realities.
5. Open your soul, and it shall breathe into it a holy influence, and
fill all its wants. Bind it close to your heart; it will be a shield
against all the assaults of evil. Read it in the lonely hour of
desertion; it will be the best of companions. Open it when the voyage of
life is troubled'; it is a sure chart. Study it in poverty'; it will
unhoard to you inexhaustible riches. Commune with it in sickness'; it
contains the medicine of the soul. Clasp it when dying'; IT IS THE
CHARTER OF IMMORTALITY.
QUESTIONS.--1. What ought we not to forget? 2. How ought the world to be
regarded? 3. How ought we to act and labor? 4. What ought we to consult?
* * * * *
LESSON LXIV.
IN TREP' ID, brave; heroic.
BE TO' KEN ED, showed; indicated.
E LAS' TIC, springy; agile.
AT' TI TUDE, posture; position.
UN' DER GROWTH, shrubbery.
CON FRONT', stand before.
CA TAS' TRO PHE, disaster; calamity.
DE TER' RED, hindered; prevented.
HUR' RI CANE, violent tempest.
BUF' FET ING, beating with the hands.
ATH LET' IC, strong; powerful.
MI RAC' U LOUS, wonderful.
TRE MEN DOUS, terrible; frightful.
DES' PE RATE, rash; furious.
IN VOL' UN TA RY, spontaneous.
CAT' A RACT, waterfall.
RE SUS' CI TATE, revive; bring to life.
CH AR' AC TER IZ ED, distinguished.
THE INTREPID YOUTH.
1. It was a calm, sunny day in the year 1750; the scene, a piece of
forest land in the north of Virginia, near a noble stream of water.
Implements of surveying were lying about, and several men reclining
under the trees, betokened, by their dress and appearance, that they
composed a party engaged in laying out the wild lands of the country.
2. These persons had apparently just finished their dinner. Apart from
the group, walked a young man of a tall and compact frame, and moved
with the elastic tread of one accustomed to constant exercise in the
open air. His countenance wore a look of decision and manliness not
usually found in one so young, for he was apparently little over
eighteen years of age. His hat had been cast off, as if for comfort, and
he had paused, with one foot advanced, in a graceful and natural
attitude.
3. Suddenly there was a shriek, then another, and several in rapid
succession. The voice was that of a woman, and seemed to proceed from
the other side of a dense thicket. At the first scream, the youth turned
his head in the direction of the sound; but when it was repeated, he
pushed aside the undergrowth which separated him from it, and,
quickening his footsteps, as the cries succeeded each other in alarming
rapidity, he soon dashed into an open space on the banks of the stream,
where stood a rude log-cabin.
4. As the young man broke from the undergrowth, he saw his companions
crowded together on the banks of the river, while in the midst stood the
woman, from whom proceeded the shrieks, held back by two of the men, but
struggling vigorously for freedom. It was but the work of a moment for
the young man to make his way through the crowd and confront the female.
The instant her eye fell on him, she exclaimed, "Oh! sir, you will do
something for me. Make them release me,--for the love of God! _My
boy,--my poor boy is drowning, and they will not let me go!"_ "It would
be madness; she will jump into the river," said one, "and the rapids
would dash her to pieces in a moment!"
5. The youth had scarcely waited for these words, for he recollected the
child, a bold little boy of four years old, whose beautiful blue eyes
and flaxen ringlets made him a favorite with all who knew him. He had
been accustomed to play in the little inclosure before the cabin, but
the gate having been left open, he had stolen incautiously out, reached
the edge of the bank, and was in the act of looking over, when his
mother saw him.
6. The shriek she uttered only hastened the catastrophe she feared; for
the child, frightened at the cry of its mother, lost its balance, and
fell into the stream, which here went foaming and roaring along amid
innumerable rocks, constituting the most dangerous rapids known in that
section of the country. Scream now followed scream in rapid succession,
as the agonized mother rushed to the bank.
7. The party we left reclining in the shade within a few steps of the
accident, were immediately on the spot. Fortunate it was that they were
so near, else the mother would have jumped in after her child, and both
been lost. Several of the men approached the brink, and were on the
point of springing in after the child, when the sight of the sharp rocks
crowding the channel, the rush and whirl of the waters, and the want of
any knowledge where to look for the boy, deterred them, and they gave up
the enterprise.
8. Not so with the noble youth. His first work was to throw off his
coat; next to spring to the edge of the bank. Here he stood for a
moment, running his eyes rapidly over the scene below, taking with a
glance the different currents and the most dangerous of the rocks, in
order to shape his course when in the stream. He had scarcely formed his
conclusion, when he saw in the water a white object, which he knew to be
the boy's dress, and he plunged into the wild and roaring rapids.
9. _"Thank God, he will save my child,"_ cried the mother; _"there he
is!--oh! my boy, my darling boy, how could I leave you!"_ Every one had
rushed to the brink of the precipice, and was now following with eager
eyes the progress of the youth, as the current bore him onward, like a
feather in the embrace of the hurricane. Now it seemed as if he would be
dashed against a jutting rock, over which the water flew in foam, and a
whirlpool would drag him in, from whose grasp escape would appear
impossible.
10. At times, the current bore him under, and he would be lost to sight;
then, just as the spectators gave him up, he would appear, though far
from where he vanished, still buffeting amid the vortex. Oh, how that
mother's straining eyes followed him in his perilous career! how her
heart sunk when he went under,--and with what a gush of joy when she saw
him emerge again from the waters, and, flinging the waves aside with his
athletic arms, struggle on in pursuit of her boy!
11. But it seemed as if his generous efforts were not to avail; for,
though the current was bearing off the boy before his eyes, scarcely ten
feet distant, he could not, despite his gigantic efforts, overtake the
drowning child. On flew the youth and child; and it was miraculous how
each escaped being dashed in pieces against the rocks. Twice the boy
went out of sight, and a suppressed shriek escaped the mother's lips;
but twice he reappeared, and then, with hands wrung wildly together, and
breathless anxiety, she followed his progress, as his unresisting form
was hurried with the onward current.
12. The youth now appeared to redouble his exertions, for they were
approaching the most dangerous part of the river, where the rapids,
contracting between the narrow shores, shot almost perpendicularly down
a declivity of fifteen feet. The rush of the waters at this spot was
tremendous, and no one ventured to approach its vicinity, even in a
canoe, lest he should be dashed in pieces. What, then, would be the
youth's fate, unless he soon overtook the child? He seemed fully
sensible of the increasing peril, and now urged his way through the
foaming current with a desperate strength.
13. Three times he was on the point of grasping the child, when the
waters whirled the prize from him. The third effort was made just as
they were entering within the influence of the current above the fall;
and when it failed, the mother's heart sunk within her, and she groaned,
fully expecting the youth to give up his task. But no; he only pressed
forward the more eagerly; and, as they breathlessly watched amid the
boiling waters, they saw the form of the brave youth following close
after that of the boy.
14. And now, like an arrow from the bow, pursuer and pursued shot to the
brink of the precipice. An instant they hung there, distinctly visible
amid the foaming waters. Every brain grew dizzy at the sight. But a
shout of involuntary exultation burst from the spectators, when they saw
the boy held aloft by the right arm of the youth,--a shout that was
suddenly checked with horror, when they both vanished into the abyss
below!
15. A moment elapsed before a word was spoken, or a breath drawn. The
mother ran forward, and then stood gazing with fixed eyes at the foot of
the cataract, as if her all depended upon what the next moment should
reveal. Suddenly she gave the glad cry, (_f_.) "_There they are! See!
they are safe!_--Great God, I thank thee!" And, sure enough, there was
the youth still unharmed, and still buffeting the waters. He had just
emerged from the boiling vortex below the cataract. With one hand he
held aloft the child, and with the other he was making for the shore.
16. They ran, they shouted, they scarcely knew what they did, until they
reached his side, just as he was struggling to the bank. They drew him
out almost exhausted. The boy was senseless; but his mother declared
that he still lived, as she pressed him frantically to her bosom. The
youth could scarcely stand, so faint was he from his exertions.
17. Who can describe the scene that followed,--the mother's calmness
while she strove to resuscitate her boy, and her wild gratitude to his
preserver, when the child was out of danger, and sweetly sleeping in her
arms? Our pen shrinks at the task. But her words, pronounced then, were
remembered afterwards by more than one who heard them.
18. "_God will reward you_," said she, "as _I_ can not. He will do great
things for you in return for this day's work, and the blessings of
thousands besides mine will attend you." And so it was; for, to the
_hero_ of that hour, were subsequently confided the destinies of a
mighty nation. But, throughout his long career, what tended to make him
more honored and respected beyond all men, was the _self-sacrificing
spirit_, which, in the rescue of that mother's child, as in the more
august events of his life, characterized OUR BELOVED WASHINGTON.
QUESTIONS.--1. Describe the scene where this accident took place. 2.
What did the woman say to the young man? 3. Why would not the men
release the woman? 4. What did the young man do? 5. Did he finally
succeed in saving the child? 6. What did the mother say to him? 7. Who
did this youth prove to be?
* * * * *
LESSON LXV.
RAB' BI, teacher or doctor.
HEA' THEN, pagan; gentile.
BOUND' A RIES, limits.
WAN' DER ED, strayed.
SUB MIS' SIVE, resigned; humble.
PIL' GRIM, wanderer.
RE PEL' LED, drove off.
IN HOS' PI TA BLE, unkind to strangers.
MAN' TLE, garment, cloak.
CON SOL' ING, comforting.
RE POS' ING, lying down; resting.
CA LAM' I TY, misfortune.
POUN' CED, fell or jumped suddenly.
IM PLOR' ING, begging; entreating.
DE SPOIL' ED, robbed.
CHURL' ISH, surly; rude.
THE FOUR MISFORTUNES.
JOHN G. SANE.
1. A pious Rabbi, forced by heathen hate,
To quit the boundaries of his native land,
Wandered abroad, submissive to his fate,
Through pathless woods and wastes of burning sand.
2. A patient ass, to bear him in his flight,
A dog, to guard him from the robber's stealth,
A lamp, by which to read the law at night,--
Was all the pilgrim's store of worldly wealth.
3. At set of sun he reached a little town,
And asked for shelter and a crumb of food;
But every face repelled him with a frown,
And so he sought a lodging in the wood.
4. "'Tis very hard," the weary traveler said,
"And most inhospitable, I protest,
To send me fasting to this forest bed;
But God is good, and means it for the best!"
5. He lit his lamp to read the sacred law,
Before he spread his mantle for the night;
But the wind rising with a sudden flaw,
He read no more,--the gust put out the light.
6. "'Tis strange," he said, "'tis very strange, indeed,
That ere I lay me down to take my rest,
A chapter of the law I may not read,--
But God is good, and all is for the best!"
7. With these consoling words the Rabbi tries
To sleep,--his head reposing on a log,--
But, ere he fairly shut his drowsy eyes,
A wolf came up and killed his faithful dog.
8. "What new calamity is this?" he cried;
"My honest dog--a friend who stood the test
When others failed--lies murdered at my side!
Well,--God is good, and means it for the best."
9. Scarce had the Rabbi spoken, when, alas!--
As if, at once, to crown his wretched lot,
A hungry lion pounced upon the ass,
And killed the faithful donkey on the spot.
10. "Alas!--alas!" the weeping Rabbi said,
"Misfortune haunts me like a hateful guest;
My dog is gone, and now my ass is dead,--
Well, God is good, and all is for the best!"
11. At dawn of day, imploring heavenly grace,
Once more he sought the town, but all in vain;
A band of robbers had despoiled the place,
And all the churlish citizens were slain.
12. "Now God be praised!" the grateful Rabbi cried,
"If I had tarried in the town to rest,
I too, with these poor villagers had died,--
Sure, God is good, and all is for the best!"
13. "Had not the saucy wind put out my lamp,
By which the sacred law I would have read,
The light had shown the robbers to my camp,
And here the villains would have left me dead.
14. "Had not my faithful animals been slain,
Their noise, no doubt, had drawn the robbers near,
And so their master, it is very plain,
Instead of them, had fallen murdered here.
15. "Full well I see that this hath happened so
To put my faith and patience to the test;
Thanks to His name! for now I surely know
That God is good, and all is for the best!"
* * * * *
LESSON LXVI.
FU TU' RI TY, events to come.
CON SULT', counsel with.
PRE TEN' SIONS, claims; assumptions.
FOR' TI TUDE, patience; endurance.
MOD' EL, pattern; example.
RES IG NA' TION, submissiveness.
O VER WHELMS', overcomes.
IN GRAT' I TUDE, unthankfulness.
VAG' A BOND, vagrant; worthless.
IM' PU DENCE, sauciness.
DES' TI NY, fate; final lot.
DE CEAS' ED, dead.
DE PRIV' ED, robbed.
IN CUR' RED, brought on; caused.
CON SUL TA' TIONS, couselings.
CAL CU LA' TIONS, reckonings.
PRE TER NAT' U RAL, (PRETER, _beyond_;) beyond what is natural;
miraculous.
IN VOLV' ED, (IN, _in_; VOLVED, _rolled_;) rolled in; enveloped.
IN TER RUPT', (INTER, _in, between_; RUPT, _to break_;) break in
between; stop; hinder.
[Headnote 1: JOB, a patriarch, celebrated for his patience, constancy,
and piety. For note on DAVID, see page 138.]
NOTE.--The dash at the end of a remark denotes that the speaker is
interrupted by the one with whom he is conversing.
MRS. CREDULOUS AND THE FORTUNE-TELLER.
_Mrs. Credulous._ Are you the fortune-teller, sir, that knows every
thing?
_Fortune-Teller._ I sometimes consult futurity, madam; but I make no
pretensions to any supernatural knowledge.
_Mrs. C._ Ay, so _you_ say; but every body else says you know _every
thing_; and I have come all the way from Boston to consult you; for you
must know I have met with a dreadful loss.
_F. T._ We are liable to losses in this world, madam.
_Mrs. C._ Yes; and I have had my share of them, though I shall be only
fifty, come Thanksgiving.
_F. T._ You must have learned to bear misfortunes with fortitude, by
this time.
_Mrs. C._ I don't know how that is, though my dear husband, rest his
soul, used to say, "Molly, you are as patient as Job,[Headnote 1] though
you never had any children to lose, as he had."
_F. T._ Job was a model of patience, madam, and few could lose their all
with so much resignation.
_Mrs. C._ Ah, sir', that is too true'; for even the small loss _I_ have
suffered, overwhelms me!
_F. T._ The loss of property, madam, comes home to the bosom of the best
of us.
_Mrs. C._ Yes, sir; and when the thing lost can not be replaced, it is
doubly distressing. When my poor, good man, on our wedding day, gave me
the ring, "Keep it, Molly," said he, "till you die, for my sake." And
now, that I should have lost it, after keeping it thirty years, and
locking it up so carefully all the time, as I did--
_F. T._ We can not be too careful in this world, madam; our best friends
often deceive us.
_Mrs. C._ True, sir, true,--but who would have thought that the child I
took, as it were, out of the street, and brought up as my own, could
have been guilty of such ingratitude? She never would have touched what
was not her own, if her vagabond lover had not put her up to it.
_F. T._ Ah, madam, ingratitude is the basest of all crimes!
_Mrs. C._ Yes; but to think that the impudent creature should deny she
took it, when I saw it in the possession of that wretch myself.
_F. T._ Impudence, madam, usually accompanies crime. But my time is
precious, and the star that rules your destiny will set, and your fate
be involved in darkness, unless I proceed to business immediately. The
star informs me, madam, that you are a widow.
_Mrs. C._ La! sir, were you acquainted with my deceased husband?
_F. T._ No, madam; we do not receive our knowledge by such means. Thy
name is Mary, and thy dwelling-place is Boston.
_Mrs. C._ Some spirit must have told you this, for certain.
_F. T._ This is not all, madam. You were married at the age of twenty
years, and were the sole heir of your deceased husband.
_Mrs. C._ I perceive, sir, you know _every_ thing.
_F. T._ Madam, I can not help knowing what I _do_ know; I must therefore
inform you that your adopted daughter, in the dead of night--
_Mrs. C._ No, sir; it was in the day-time.
_F. T._ Do not interrupt me, madam. In the dead of night, your adopted
daughter planned the robbery which deprived you of your wedding-ring.
_Mrs. C._ No earthly being could have told you this, for I never let my
right hand know that I possessed it, lest some evil should happen to it.
_F. T._ Hear me, madam; you have come all this distance to consult the
fates, and find your ring.
_Mrs. C._ You have guessed my intention exactly, sir.
_F. T._ Guessed'! madam'. I _know_ this is your object; and I know,
moreover, that your ungrateful daughter has incurred your displeasure,
by receiving the addresses of a worthless man.
_Mrs. C._ Every word is gospel truth.
_F. T._ This man has persuaded your daughter--
_Mrs. C._ I knew he did, I told her so. But good sir, can you tell me
who has the ring?
_F. T._ This young man has it.
_Mrs. C._ But he denies it.
_F. T._ No matter, madam, he has it.
_Mrs. C._ But how shall I obtain it again?
_F. T._ The law points out the way, madam,--it is _my_ business to point
out the rogue,--you must catch him.
_Mrs. C._ You are right, sir,--and if there is law to be had, I will
spend every cent I own, but I will have it. I knew he was the robber,
and I thank you for the information. [_Going_.]
_F. T._ But thanks, madam, will not pay for all my nightly vigils,
consultations, and calculations.
_Mrs. C._ Oh, right, sir! I forgot to pay you. What am I indebted to
you?
_F. T._ Only five dollars, madam.
_Mrs. C._ [_Handing him the money_.] There it is, sir. I would have paid
twenty rather than not have found the ring.
_F. T._ I never take but five, madam. Farewell, madam, your friend is at
the door with your chaise.
[_He leaves the room_.]
[_Enter, Friend_.]
_Friend_. Well, Mary, what does the fortune-teller say?
_Mrs. C._ Oh, he told me I was a widow, and lived in Boston, and had an
adopted daughter,--and----
_Friend._ But you knew all this before, did you not?
_Mrs. C._ Yes; but how should _he_ know it? He told me, too, that I had
lost a ring,--
_Friend._ Did he tell you where to find it?
_Mrs. C._ Oh yes! he says that fellow has it, and I must go to law and
get it, if he will not give it up. What do you think of that?
_Friend._ It is precisely what any fool could have told you. But how
much did you pay for this precious information?
_Mrs. C._ Only five dollars.
_Friend._ How much was the ring worth?
_Mrs. C._ Why, two dollars, at least.
_Friend._ Then you have paid ten dollars for a chaise to bring you here,
five dollars for the information that you had already, and all this to
gain possession of a ring not worth one quarter of the expense!
_Mrs. C._ Oh, the rascal! how he has cheated me! I will go to the
world's end but I will be revenged.
_Friend._ You had better go home, and say nothing about it; for every
effort to recover your money, will only expose your folly.
QUESTIONS.--1. What had Mrs. Credulous said, by which the fortune-teller
knew all the circumstances relative to the loss of her ring? 2. How was
she told she must get her ring? 3. What did she pay the fortune-teller?
4. How much for the chaise? 5. What was her ring worth? 6. Was she a
bright dame?
* * * * *
LESSON LXVII.
UN FAL' TER ING, steady.
CON FID' ING LY, trustingly.
SOOTH' ING LY, tenderly, calmly.
AL LUR'ING, seductive; flattering.
AP PRO' PRI ATE, proper; peculiar.
SUB MIS' SION, resignation.
IN' VA LID, sick or infirm person.
CON TENT' MENT, satifaction.
MEA' GER, scanty.
CON' FI DENCE, faith; reliance.
AS SUAG' ED, relieved; mitigated.
FER' VEN CY, heat; ardent feeling.
RA DI A TION luster.
FRU I' TION, realization; enjoyment.
FAITH, HOPE, AND CHARITY.--AN ALLEGORY.
[Footnote: AL' LE GO RY is a word of Greek origin. It is made up of two
parts; ALL, _other_; and EGORY, _discourse_; the literal meaning of the
compound being, _discourse_ about _other_ things; that is, things other
than those expressed by the words, literally interpreted. Allegory is,
therefore, the general name for that class of compositions, as _Fables_,
_Apologues_, _Parables_, and _Myth_, in which there is a _double_
signification, one _literal_ and the other _figurative_; the literal
being designed merely to give a more clear and impressive view of that
which is figurative.]
1. Many years ago, three beautiful sisters came into our world to
lighten the burdens of earth's toiling pilgrims, and aid them in
preparation for a higher state of existence. Alike commissioned by the
Great Father, they were sent on errands of mercy, and were not to turn
away from scenes of darkness, sorrow, and suffering.
2. FAITH had a firm, unfaltering step; HOPE, a beaming eye, ever turned
to the future; and LOVE, a pitying glance, and a helping hand. They
journeyed confidingly together; and when they found a stricken being in
danger of perishing by the wayside, FAITH soothingly whispered, "My
Father doeth all things well;" HOPE pointed to the cooling shade just in
advance; and LOVE assisted him to rise, and aided his feeble steps.
3. Groups of fair children played near the path in which they were
traveling. Some of these did not understand the tones of FAITH; but they
all listened eagerly to the alluring strains of HOPE, who painted
brighter scenes than those they were enjoying, and flowers more fragrant
than any they yet had gathered. LOVE delighted to linger with the
youthful band, lessening their trials, and increasing their pleasures.
4. Her gentle touch arrested the little hand that was lifted against a
playmate, and her soothing voice calmed the angry passions which were
swelling in the bosom. When a child stumbled in the way, she tenderly
raised it up again, or when a thorn pierced the unwary finger, she
kindly removed it, and bound up the bleeding wound.
5. While the sisters were busy in their appropriate mission, a
pale-cheeked lad mingled with the group of merry children, though too
weak to share their sports. FAITH stole to his side, and whispered of
the great Parent above, who afflicts in wisdom, and chastens in love.
His eye brightened while she spoke, and he looked upward with that trust
and submission which he had never before experienced.
6. Then HOPE came, with visions of returning health, when his frame
would be strong and his heart buoyant. But when HOPE and FAITH were
gone, again his head drooped, and the tear started. Then LOVE sat down
by the invalid, twining a garland of summer blossoms for his pale brow,
and singing sweet melodies which charmed his listening ear. The pain was
all gone now; smiles wreathed his pallid lips, and the sick boy laughed
as merrily as his more robust companions.
7. The sisters, in their journeyings, entered the abode of poverty. It
was a humble dwelling, and yet it looked cheerful, yea, even inviting,
when the three graced it with their presence. FAITH shed a spirit of
calm contentment and heavenly trust in those lowly walls; HOPE whispered
of the better mansions prepared for the followers of the Lamb; and LOVE,
not less exalted than her sisters, threw a charm over the meager fare
and scanty attire of the inmates. FAITH taught them to offer the daily
prayer in trusting confidence; HOPE pointed beyond this world to joys
which eye hath not seen, nor ear heard; while LOVE lessened each burden,
and increased each simple pleasure. FAITH, HOPE, and CHARITY! ye,
indeed, can make a paradise of the humblest home!
8. There was a darkened chamber, with a wan form tossing restlessly upon
the couch. Wealth was there; but it could not allay pain, or prolong
life. FAITH, noiseless as a spirit form, glided to the sick one's side.
"Though He slay me, yet will I trust in Him," was her language, as she
pointed upward. HOPE fain would have whispered of length of days, but
she knew this could not be; so she spoke of life eternal, where there is
no more pain. Then LOVE smoothed the pillow, and bathed the fevered
brow, pausing not in her tender ministries through the night-watches.
When morning dawned, the spirit of the sick man passed away, though not
until FAITH, and HOPE, and LOVE had assuaged the anguish of the parting
pang.
9. Weeping mourners gathered around the dead. There were tears,--for
"tears well befit earth's partings;" there was sorrow,--for what
bitterness is like unto that of the bereaved, when the grave opens to
infold the heart's best treasure? Yet FAITH, and HOPE, and LOVE were
there, assuaging those tears, and mitigating that sorrow. FAITH, even
while her cheeks were wet, exclaimed, "The Lord gave, and the Lord hath
taken away; blessed be the name of the Lord."
10. HOPE'S language was, "Not lost, but gone before;" and her eye,
having lost none of its brightness, saw with prophetic vision a reunion
yet to come. LOVE tenderly wiped away each gathering tear, and gave
deeper fervency to the trusting confidence of FAITH, and the inspiring
strains of HOPE. And when the sleeper was committed to the dust, these
gentle sisters lingered in the lonely house, and by the darkened hearth.
11. Such are FAITH, HOPE, and CHARITY,--given by God to lighten human
sorrow, and bless the creatures He has made. They have each a mission to
fulfill,--different, it is true, and yet they move in harmony. FAITH
enables us to submit trustingly to daily trials, viewing a kind Father's
hand in each passing event. HOPE, when the sky is dark, and the path
thorny, points not only to fairer scenes below, but to that brighter
world where there is no night and no sorrow.
12. LOVE lightens every burden, and reflects upon earth a faint
radiation of heavenly blessedness,--for the Scriptures assure us that
"God is love: and every one that loveth is born of God." The time will
come when, the purposes of the wise Creator being accomplished, Faith
and Hope will cease. Faith will be lost in sight, Hope in fruition; but
Love will remain, binding the spirits of the redeemed in blissful
communion, and uniting them to God the Father and Christ the Elder
Brother.
13. Faith, Hope, and Charity! blessed spirits! May they be inmates of
every heart! May they assist each of us in the peculiar trials which
none can know but ourselves! They will come to us if we seek their
presence; but they must be carefully nurtured. Let us cherish them in
our bosoms, and they will bless us constantly in our pilgrimage below,
and conduct us to the presence of our God.
* * * * *
LESSON LXVIII.
TRANSPORT' ED, highly delighted.
THREAT' EN ING, impending.
COR' O NAL, crown; chaplet.
MYR' I AD, innumerable.
LUS' CIOUS, delicious.
LUS TY, strong; vigorous.
WAR' BLING, singing; caroling.
CHURL, sour, surly man.
RE FRESH', cool; make fresh.
LAN' GUID, dull; sluggish.
DROUTH' Y, dry; arid.
SUS TAIN', uphold; support.
UN GRUDG'ING, free-hearted; liberal.
NIG GARD, miser; stingy person.
"NOT TO MYSELF ALONE."
S.W. PARTRIDGE.
1. "_Not to myself alone,_"
The little opening flower transported cries.
"Not to myself alone I bud and bloom;
With fragrant breath the breezes I perfume,
And gladden all things with my rainbow dyes.
The bee comes sipping, every eventide,
His dainty fill;
The butterfly within my cup doth hide
From threatening ill."
2. "_Not to myself alone,_"
The circling star with honest pride doth boast,
"Not to myself alone I rise and set;
I write upon night's coronal of jet
His power and skill who formed our myriad host;
A friendly beacon at heaven's open gate,
I gem the sky.
That man might ne'er forget, in every fate,
His home on high."
3. "_Not to myself alone_,"
The heavy-laden bee doth murmuring hum,
"Not to myself alone, from flower to flower,
I rove the wood, the garden, and the bower,
And to the hive at evening weary come;
For man, for man, the luscious food I pile
With busy care,
Content if he repay my ceaseless toil
With scanty share."
4. "_Not to myself alone_,"
The soaring bird with lusty pinion sings,
"Not to myself alone I raise my song;
I cheer the drooping with my warbling tongue,
And bear the mourner on my viewless wings;
I bid the hymnless churl my anthem learn,
And God adore;
I call the worldling from his dross to turn,
And sing and scar."
5. _"Not to myself alone,"_
The streamlet whispers on its pebbly way,
"Not to myself alone I sparkling glide;
I scatter health and life on every side,
And strew the fields with herb and floweret gay.
I sing unto the common, bleak and bare,
My gladsome tune;
I sweeten and refresh the languid air
In droughty June."
6. _"Not to myself alone:"_--
O man, forget not thou,--earth's honored priest,
Its tongue, its soul, its life, its pulse, its heart,--
In earth's great chorus to sustain _thy_ part!
Chiefest of guests at Love's ungrudging feast,
Play not the niggard; spurn thy native clod,
And _self_ disown;
Live to thy neighbor; live unto thy God;
_Not to thyself alone!_
QUESTIONS.--1. What things are mentioned, that contribute to our comfort
and happiness? 2. How does the suffix _less,_ affect the meaning of the
words _cease, view, hymn,_ &c.? 3. What is the meaning of the suffixes
_let_ and _et,_ in the words _streamlet_ and _floweret?_ See SANDERS &
McELLIGOTT'S ANALYSIS, page 140, Ex. 185 and 187.
* * * * *
LESSON LXIX.
NURS'ING, nourishing; cherishing.
AB HOR', detest; loathe.
RE LI' ED, depended.
FRA TER' NAL, brotherly.
SU PER' NAL, heavenly.
COM BINE', unite; join together.
RE HEARS' AL, recital; repetition.
BIG' OT RY, blind zeal; prejudice.
SHEATHE, put in a sheath.
U NI VERS AL, general.
CUS TOM, practice; usage.
TAL' ENT, natural ability.
AF FECT'ING, making false show.
IS' O LATE, separate; detach.
THE WORLD WOULD BE THE BETTER FOR IT.
W.H. COBB.
1. If men cared less for wealth and fame,
And less for battle-fields and glory,--
If writ in human hearts a name
Seemed better than in song and story,--
If men instead of nursing pride,
Would learn to hate it and abhor it,--
If more relied
On _love_ to guide,--
_The world would be the better for it._
2. If men dealt less in stocks and lands,
And more in bonds and deeds fraternal,--
If Love's work had more willing hands
To link this world to the supernal,--
If men stored up Love's oil and wine,
And on bruised human hearts would pour it,--
If _"yours"_ and _"mine"_
Would once combine,--
_The world would be the letter for it._
3. If more would _act_ the play of Life,
And fewer spoil it in rehearsal,--
If Bigotry would sheathe his knife
Till Good became more universal,--
If Custom, gray with ages grown,
Had fewer blind men to adore it,--
If talent shone
In Truth alone,--
_The world would be the better for it._
4. If men were wise in little things,
Affecting less in all their dealings,--
If hearts had fewer rusted strings
To isolate their kindly feelings,--
If men, when Wrong beats down the Right,
Would strike together and restore it,--
If Right made Might
In every fight,--
_The world would be the letter for it._
* * * * *
LESSON LXX.
In reading these antithetic sentences, an excellent effect may be
produced by dividing the class equally into two parts, and letting one
part read, in concert, the line marked _1st Voice_, and the other part,
the line marked _2d Voice;_ or, one pupil may read one line, and the
next pupil the other, alternately.
SELECT PROVERBS OF SOLOMON.
_1st Voice_. A wise son maketh a glad father;
_2d Voice_, but a foolish son is the heaviness of his mother.
_1 V_. Treasures of wickedness profit nothing;
_2 V_. but righteousness delivereth from death.
_1 V_. He becometh poor, that dealeth with a slack hand;
_2 V_. but the hand of the diligent maketh rich.
_1 V_. Blessings are upon the head of the just;
_2 V_. but violence covereth the mouth of the wicked.
_1 V_. The memory of the just is blessed;
_2 V_. but the name of the wicked shall rot.
_1 V_. The wise in heart will receive commandment;
_2 V_. but a prating fool shall fall.
_1 V._ He that walketh uprightly, walketh surely;
_2 V._ but he that perverteth his ways, shall be known.
_1 V._ Wise men lay up knowledge;
_2 V._ but the mouth of the wicked is near destruction.
_1 V._ He is in the way of life, that keepeth instruction;
_2 V._ but he that refuseth reproof, erreth.
_1 V._ It is as sport to a fool to do mischief;
_2 V._ but a man of understanding hath wisdom.
_1 V._ The fear of the Lord prolongeth days;
_2 V._ but the years of the wicked shall be shortened.
_1 V._ The hope of the righteous shall be gladness;
_2 V._ but the expectation of the wicked shall perish.
_1 V._ The righteous shall never be removed;
_2 V._ but the wicked shall not inhabit the earth.
_1 V._ The mouth of the just bringeth forth wisdom;
_2 V._ but the froward tongue shall be cut out.
_1 V._ A false balance is an abomination to the Lord;
_2 V._ but a just weight is his delight.
_1 V._ Riches profit not in the day of wrath;
_2 V._ but righteousness delivereth from death.
_1 V._ The righteousness of the perfect shall direct his way;
_2 V._ but the wicked shall fall by his own wickedness.
_1 V._ By the blessing of the upright the city is exalted;
_2 V._ but it is overthrown by the mouth of the wicked.
_1 V._ Where no counsel is, the people fall,
_2 V._ but in the multitude of counselors there is safety.
_1 V._ He that diligently seeketh good, procureth favor;
_2 V._ but he that seeketh mischief, it shall come unto him.
_1 V._ The righteous man regardeth the life of his beast;
_2 V._ but the tender mercies of the wicked are cruel.
_1 V_. The lip of truth shall be established forever;
_2 V_. but a lying tongue is but for a moment.
_1 V_. Lying lips are abomination to the Lord;
_2 V_. but they that deal truly are His delight.
_1 V_. The hand of the diligent shall bear rule;
_2 V_. but the slothful shall be under tribute.
_1 V_. A wise son heareth his father's instruction;
_2 V_. but a scorner heareth not rebuke.
_1 V_. He that keepeth his mouth, keepeth his life;
_2 V_. but he that openeth wide his lips, shall have destruction.
_1 V_. A scorner seeketh wisdom, and findeth it not;
_2 V_. but knowledge is easy unto him that understandeth.
_1 V_. There is a way which seemeth right unto a man;
_2 V_. but the end thereof are the ways of death.
_1 V_. A wise man feareth, and departeth from evil;
_2 V_. but the fool rageth, and is confident.
_1 V_. The poor is hated even of his neighbor;
_2 V_. but the rich hath many friends.
_1 V_. He that oppresseth the poor, reproacheth his Maker;
_2 V_. but he that honoreth Him, hath mercy on the poor.
_1 V_. He that is slow to wrath, is of great understanding;
_2 V_. but he that is hasty in spirit, exalteth folly.
_1 V_. A soft answer turneth away wrath;
_2 V_. but grievous words stir up anger.
_1 V_. He that walketh with wise men, shall be wise;
_2 V_. but a companion of fools shall be destroyed.
_1 V_. Counsel in the heart of man is like deep water;
_2 V_. but a man of understanding will draw it out.
_1 V_. The wicked is driven away in his wickedness;
_2 V_. but the righteous hath hope in his death.
* * * * *
LESSON LXXI.
IM PRES' SION, idea; notion.
AT TRAC' TIONS, allurements.
SA TI' E TY, excessive fullness.
SAT' ED, glutted; satiated.
PAM' PER ED, over-fed.
SUC' CU LENT, full of sap; juicy.
UM BRA' GEOUS, shady.
GOR' GEOUS, showy; brilliant.
DREAR' I NESS, gloominess.
REG' IS TER, record; note down.
SUG GEST' IVE, giving signs.
DEC LA RA' TION, announcement.
EX TREM' I TIES, ends.
DRA' PER Y, hangings; decorations.
EN CHANT' MENT, charms; fascination.
FRET' TED, furnished with frets, of ornamental raised work.
DEC O RA' TIONS, adornments.
[Headnote 1: AR' A BESQUES, is a word, denoting ornaments after the
Arabian manner, often intricate and fantastic, from the intermingling
of foliage, fruits, &c., with other objects real or imaginary.]
WINTER BEAUTY.
HENRY WARD BEECHER.
1. It is the impression of many, that only in summer, including spring
and autumn, of course, is the _country_ desirable as a residence. The
country in summer, and the city for the winter. It is true, that the
winter gives attractions to the city, in endless meetings, lectures,
concerts, and indoor amusements; but it is not true that the country
loses all interest when the leaves are shed and the grass is gone. On
the contrary, to one who has learned how to use his senses and his
sensibilities, there are attractions in the winter of a peculiar kind,
and pleasures which can be reaped only then.
2. It appears to me, that winter comes in to relieve the year of
satiety. The mind grows sated with greenness. After eight or nine months
of luxuriant growths, the eye grows accustomed to vegetation. To be
sure, we never are less pleased with the wide prospect; with forms of
noble trees, with towns and meadows, and with the whole aspect of
nature. But it is the pleasure of one pampered. We lose the keen edge of
hunger. The eye enjoys, without the relish of newness. We expect to
enjoy. Every thing loses surprise.
3. Of course, the sky is blue, the grass succulent, the fields green,
the trees umbrageous, the clouds silent and mysterious. They were so
yesterday, they are so to-day, they will be so to-morrow, next week,
next month. In short, the mind does not cease to feel the charm of
endless growths; but needs variety, change of diet, less of perpetual
feasting, and something of the blessings of a fast. _This_ winter gives.
It says to us: You have had too much. You are luxurious and dainty. You
need relief and change of diet.
4. The cold blue of the sky, the cold gray of rocks, the sober warmth of
browns and russets, take the place of more gorgeous colors. If, now, one
will accept this change in the tone of nature, after a time a new and
relishful pleasure arises. The month formed by the last fortnight of
November and the first two weeks of December, is, to me, the saddest of
the year. It most nearly produces the sense of desolateness and
dreariness of any portion of the year.
5. From the hour that the summer begins to shorten its days, and
register the increasing change along the horizon, over which the sun
sets, farther and farther toward the south, we have a genial and gentle
sadness. But sadness belongs to all very deep joys. It is almost as
needful to the perfectness of joy, as shadows in landscapes are to the
charm of the picture. Then, too, comes the fading out of flowers,--each
variety in its turn, saying, "Farewell till next summer."
6. Scarcely less suggestive of departing summer are the new-comers, the
late summer golden-rod, the asters, and all autumnal flowers. Long
experience teaches us that these are the latest blossoms that fall from
the sun's lap, and next to them is snow. By association we already see
white in the yellow and blue. Then, too, birds are thinking of other
things. No more nests, no more young, no more songs,--except
signal-notes and rallying-calls; for they are evidently warned, and go
about their little remaining daily business, as persons who expect every
hour to depart to a distant land.
7. It is scarcely ever that we see the birds _go_. They are here to-day,
and gone to-morrow. They disappear without observation. The fields are
empty and silent. It seems as if the winds had blown them away with the
leaves. The first sight of northern waterfowl, far up in the air,
retreating from Labrador and the short, Arctic summer, is always to us
like the declaration: "Summer is gone; winter is behind us; it will soon
be upon you." At last come the late days of November. All is
gone,--frosts reap and glean more sharply every night.
8. A few weeks bring earnest winter. Then begin to dawn other delights.
The bracing air, the clean snow-paths, the sled and sleigh, the
revelation of forms that all summer were grass-hidden; the
sharp-outlined hills lying clear upon the sky; the exquisite tracery of
trees,--especially of all such trees as that dendral child of God, the
elm, whose branches are carried out into an endless complexity of fine
lines of spray, and which stands up in winter, showing in its whole
anatomy, that all its summer shade was founded upon the most substantial
reality.
9. In winter, too, particularly in the latter periods of it, the
extremities of shrubs and branches begin to take on ruddy hues, or
purplish browns, and the eye knows that these are the first faint
blushes of coming summer. Now, too, we find how beautiful are the mosses
in the woods; and under them we find solitary green leaves, that have
laughed all winter because they had outwitted the frost.
10. Wherever flowing springs gush from sheltered spots looking south,
one will find many green edges, young grass, and some few tougher
leaves. Now, too, in still days, the crow swings heavily through the
air, cawing with a pleasing harshness. For dieting has performed its
work. Your appetite is eager. A little now pleases you more than
abundance did in August. Every tiny leaf is to you like a cedar of
Lebanon.
11. All these things are unknown to dwellers in cities. It is nothing to
them that a robin appeared for the first time yesterday morning, or that
a blue-bird sang over against the house. Some new _prima-donna_ [Footnote:
The first female singer in an opera.] exhausts their admiration. They are
yet studying laces, and do not care for the of swamps, for the first
catkins of the willow. They are still coveting the stores of precious
stones at the jewelers, and do not care for my ruby buds, and red
dogwood, and scarlet winter berries, and ground pine, and partridge-berry
leaves.
12. There is one sight of the country, at about this time of the
year--the first of March--that few have seen, or else they have passed
it by as if it were not worthy of record. I mean the drapery of rocks in
gorges, or along precipitous sides of hills or mountains. The seams of
rocks are the outlets of springs. The water, trickling through, is
seized by the frost, and held fast in white enchantment. Every day adds
to the length of the ice drapery; and, as the surface is overlaid by new
issuings, it is furred and fretted with silver-white chasings, the most
exquisite.
13. Thus, one may find a succession, in a single gorge, of extraordinary
ice-curtains, and pendent draperies, of varying lengths, of every
fantastic form, of colors varying by thickness, or by the tinge of earth
or rock shining through them. In my boyhood, I used to wander along
these fairy halls, imagining them to be now altars in long, white
draperies; now, grand cathedral pillars of white marble; then, long
tapestries chased in white, with arabesques [Headnote 1] and crinkled
vines and leaves.
14. Sometimes they seemed like gigantic bridal decorations, or like the
robes of beings vast and high, hung in their wardrobes while they slept.
But, whatever fancy interpreted them, or whether they were looked upon
with two good, sober, literal eyes, they were, and still are, among the
most delightful of winter exhibitions, to those who are wise enough to
search out the hidden beauty of winter in the country.
QUESTIONS.--1. What are some of the attractions of winter in the city?
2. What are some of the delights of winter in the country? 3. What is
said of the drapery of rocks? 4. What did the writer imagine them to be,
in boyhood?
* * * * *
LESSON LXXII.
UN SUL' LIED, pure; clear.
PHE NOM' E NON, appearance.
TRANS PAR' EN CY, clearness.
AS TON' ISH ING, amazing.
RAM I FI CA' TION, branch, or branching out.
IN DE SCRIB' A BLY, beyond description.
MA JES' TIC, grand.
OC CA' SION AL, occurring at times.
IM PRESS'IVE, powerful; effective.
IN TER SECT' ING, meeting and crossing.
PEN' E TRA TING, piercing.
E' THER, thin or refined air.
CON GEAL' ED, frozen.
BUR' NISH ING, brightening.
EN GEN' DER ED, produced.
EM' BLEM, symbol.
CON TEM PLA' TION, meditation.
EL E VA' TION, loftiness.
FROSTED TREES.
1.
"Ere yet the clouds let fall the treasured snow,
Or winds begun their hazy skies to blow,
At evening, a keen eastern breeze arose,
And the descending rain unsullied froze.
Soon as the silent shades of night withdrew,
The ruddy morn disclosed at once to view
The face of Nature in a rich disguise,
And brightened every object to my eyes.
For every shrub, and every blade of grass,
And every pointed thorn, seemed wrought in glass."
2. Since Sunday, [Feb. 1st, 1852,] we have had presented to our view,
the beautiful phenomenon of FROSTED TREES, the most astonishing and
brilliant that I ever remember to have noticed. The previous storm and
mist had thickly covered every exposed object,--the loftiest trees, the
minutest blade, hill and dale, with the icy garment. This transparency
was most perfect, defining every form and ramification into exact models
of the entire body, branch, or limb.
3. Dwellings and barns were incrusted by the chilling vapor. It hung
upon the manes of the cattle, and decorated, wherever seen, the humble
grass, which appeared bending, like threads of crystal. The small bushes
were indescribably beautiful, and seemed as if chiseled out of the
whitest marble. As far as the eye could extend, over brooks, fields, and
woods, the same striking and singular sight was universal.
4. I could not remain contented in the house, and toward sunset,
hastened away, where the view might be free and uninterrupted. Here, the
scene, if possible, was more impressive and interesting. There was
scarcely a breath of air, and the general silence was only interrupted
by the occasional flight of some winter bird, which, alighting on a
limb, would shake down a thousand feathery showers, until he seemed
frightened at the unusual sound. The forest trees made a truly majestic
appearance, with their naked, giant arms and mossy branches intersecting
each other, and fast bound by the frozen barriers.
5. I shall not attempt to describe the brilliancy of the undergrowth and
dwarf trees, upon whose limbs hung a delicate frosting, like unwrought
silver, nor the crimson glow of the holly-berries through their
transparent and icy covering,--all, all was a dazzling and splendid
winter array,
"That buries wide the works of man."
It brought to my mind some of the Eastern fairy tales, and their gardens
ornamented with shrubs and plants of sparkling crystals.
6. The exposed sides of the rocks and fences were completely iced over,
not the smallest particle escaping the penetrating and congealed ether.
It was truly astonishing to examine its thickness. On some twigs, not
larger than a wheat straw, the ice measured half an inch through. One
would scarcely imagine what an immense weight of the frozen mass a tree
will sustain, before it breaks under the unusual load. Many branches
were bent so low that I could reach them with my hands; and, shaking off
their frosted barks, they would instantly spring far above my reach.
Every few minutes, I was startled by the rattling noise of these falling
icicles from some neighboring tree or grove.
7. Just when the sun went down, there was not a single cloud to be seen
in the horizon, and his cold, bright, setting rays brought out, on every
hand, frozen gems, diamonds, rubies, and sapphires, in every possible
prismatic beauty, wherever his departing beams fell. Presently the moon
bathed the whitened earth, and every congealed drop, in her soft light,
burnishing, with dazzling icy brilliancy, trees, dwellings, and streams.
I am an ardent lover of Nature and her scenery, and have often,
delighted, gazed upon the Queen of Night; but _never_ did I behold such
a brilliant moonlight night as this.
8. Who could help bringing to mind the sublimities of Job and of
David,--"The hoary frost of heaven, who hath engendered it? The waters
are hid, as with a stone, and the face of the deep is frozen."--"By the
breath of the Mighty God, ice is produced, and the waters which were
spread on all sides, are held in chains." The Psalmist says, "He giveth
the snow like wool, He scattereth the hoar-frost like ashes. Wash me,
and I shall be whiter than snow."--Well may poets look to the falling
snow-flake for their images of purity and innocence, ere it receives the
stain of earth. I know of no litter emblem.
9. Such a winter's night! _and the skies! the skies!_ So resplendent in
brightness are the hosts of heaven at this moment, that they should be
contemplated by every lover and student of the works of God. Their
numbers who can count,--their twinkling beauty who can describe, as
onward they roll in the deep blue of midnight? In their contemplation
are inspired "thoughts that wander through eternity," with an elevation
of feeling, as if we were separated from the toils and tumults of earth,
and exalted into a higher state of being than that in which we toiled
through the day! These heavens tell us of a WISDOM and POWER we can not
search or estimate. There we seem to stand more immediately in the
vailed presence of the Infinite Majesty, who "laid the foundations of
the earth, when the morning stars sang together, and all the sons of God
shouted for joy."
QUESTIONS.--1. Describe the appearance of frosted trees. 2. What is
said of the appearance of shrubs, bushes, &c.? 3. What, of the weight
sustained by a single tree? 4. What was the appearance at sunset?
5. What passages of Scripture did the scene bring to mind? 6. Of what
is the snowflake an emblem? 7. What is said of the skies?
* * * * *
LESSON LXXIII.
SPLEN' DOR, brightness; glory.
E TER' NAL LY, everlastingly.
WAY'-WEA RY, tired; fatigued.
GAZE, eager look.
EV' ER GREEN, always green.
LONG' ED, earnestly desired.
RE POSE, rest; quietude.
RAN' SOM ED, redeemed.
PAL' ACE, mansion; abode.
UN CEAS' ING LY, constantly.
THE MOUNTAINS OF LIFE.
JAMES G. CLARK.
1. There's a land far away, 'mid the stars, we are told,
Where they know not the sorrows of time,--
Where the pure waters wander through valleys of gold,
And life is a treasure sublime;
'Tis the land of our God, 'tis the home of the soul,
Where the ages of splendor eternally roll,--
Where the way-weary traveler reaches his goal,
On the evergreen Mountains of Life.
2. Our gaze can not soar to that beautiful land,
But our visions have told of its bliss;
And our souls by the gale from its gardens are fanned,
When we faint in the desert of this;
And we sometimes have longed for its holy repose,
When our spirits were torn with temptations and woes,
And we've drank from the tide of the river that flows
From the evergreen Mountains of Life.
3. Oh! the stars never tread the blue heavens at night,
But we think where the ransomed have trod;
And the day never smiles from his palace of light,
But we feel the bright smile of our God.
We are traveling homeward, through changes and gloom,
To a kingdom where pleasures unceasingly bloom,
And our guide is the glory that shines through the tomb,
From the evergreen Mountains of Life.
QUESTIONS.--1. What is said of that land far away? 2. How do we know
there is such a land? 3. Of what do the stars remind us?
* * * * *
LESSON LXXIV.
IM AG' IN A RY, not real.
AN TIC' I PATE, take beforehand.
PRE FER' RED, chosen.
OC CUR' RED, happened.
SUS TAIN', support; uphold.
PER MIT', allow.
IN VIS' I BLE, unseen.
EN CHAIN', bind; fasten.
FORE BOD' ING, dread of evil.
IN VEN' TION, contrivance.
CON FER' RED, bestowed.
AP PRE HEN' SION, dread; fear.
IMAGINARY EVILS.
CHARLES SWAIN.
1. Let to-morrow take care of to-morrow;
Leave things of the future to fate;
What's the use to anticipate sorrow?
Life's troubles come never too late.
If to hope overmuch be an error,
'Tis one that the wise have preferred;
And how often have hearts been in terror
Of evils that never occurred.
2. Have faith, and thy faith shall sustain thee;
Permit not suspicion and care
With invisible bonds to enchain thee,
But bear what God gives thee to bear.
By His Spirit supported and gladdened,
Be ne'er by forebodings deterred;
But think how oft hearts have been saddened
By fears of what never occurred!
3. Let to-morrow take care of to-morrow;
Short and dark as our life may appear,
We may make it still darker by sorrow,
Still shorter by folly and fear;
Half our troubles are half our invention,
And often from blessings conferred,
Have we shrunk in the wild apprehension
Of evils that never occurred!
QUESTIONS.--1. What is said of imaginary evils? 2. How may we be
supported under trials? 3. What tends to shorten life? 4. Whence proceed
half our troubles? 5. What rule for doubling the _r_ and _d_ in such
words as _occurred_, _saddened_, &c.? See SANDERS' NEW SPELLER, page
168, Rule II.
* * * * *
LESSON LXXV.
WASTE, desolate region.
PRO CEED', come forth.
CHASM, gap; opening.
COILS, folds; convolutions.
MAN I FEST, plain; evident.
PRE SERV' ER, protector.
AL LE' GI ANCE, duty; loyalty.
RAY, make bright; adorn.
EX PAND, swell; dilate.
FA' THER LAND, native land.
GUER DON, reward; recompense.
PROF' FER, offer; tender.
PIT' E OUS, mournful; sorrowful.
IM PET' U OUS LY, furiously.
AT TRACT', (AT, _to_; TRACT, _draw_;) draw to; allure.
IN VEST', (IN, _to_; VEST, _clothe_;) clothe in or with;
inclose; surround.
PRO TEST, (PRO, _before_; TEST, _witness_;) witness before;
openly declare.
[Headnote 1: PY THON is the name of a large serpent, fabled to have been
slain by the god Apollo.]
SIR WALTER AND THE LION.
A. WALCHNER.
1. Sir Walter of Thurn, over the Syrian waste,
Rides away with a flowing rein;
But he hears a groan that checks his haste,
As if death were in the strain.
He spurs his steed
Whence the sounds proceed;
And there, from a rocky chasm, arise
Fierce cries of pain, that assail the skies;
And his horse uprears
In excess of fears,
As the glance of a lion attracts his eyes.
2. Fierce struggling there in the monster folds
Of a serpent that round him twines;
Sir Walter a moment the scene beholds,
Then to save the beast inclines.
His good sword stout
From its sheath leaps out,
When down it falls on the Python's [Headnote 1] crest,
And cleaves the coils that the lion invest;
And the noble beast,
From its thrall released,
Shows grateful joy most manifest.
3. He shakes his mane, and bends his form,
And licks his preserver's hand,
As if he yields allegiance warm
To his supreme command.
Like the faithful hound
To be constant found,
And follow his steps for evermore;
And thus he follows, on sea and shore,
In the battle's tide,
He stands by his side,
Or with him rests when the strife is o'er.
4. In Palestine Sir Walter is known,--
Long years attest his fame;
And many brave deeds he there hath done,
That ray with glory his name;
But his heart doth expand
For the fatherland,
And he fain its pleasant scenes would see,
With his friendly lion for company;
But with fearful breast,
The sailors protest,
As they glanced at the beast and his majesty.
5. Rich guerdon he proffers, and golden store;
But though the prize were great,
The sailors hurry away from the shore
As if from the doom of fate.
The poor beast moans
In piteous tones,
Then darts impetuously o'er the sands,--
Then looks to the ship, and mournfully stands;
Then plunges into the gloomy wave,
The perils of the depths to brave.
Already he nears the flying bark,
Already his roar of grief they hark;
But his strength is spent, and the sea is strong,
And he may not the fearful struggle prolong.
His dying glances are fondly cast
Along the track where the loved one passed;
Then sinks to his grave
Beneath the wave,
And the night and the ocean behold him the last.
QUESTIONS.--1. What did Sir Walter discover as he was riding over the
Syrian waste? 2. What did he do? 3. What did the lion do, after being
released? 4. Did the sailors allow the lion to go on board the ship? 5.
What did the lion then do? 6. What became of him?
* * * * *
LESSON LXXVI.
VAL' IANT, strong; courageous,
INC LI NA' TION, desire; tendency.
RE PLEN' ISH ED, filled up.
DIS SEV' ER, part; sunder.
SHIV' ER, dash to pieces.
EC STAT' IC, rapturous.
CON CLU' SION, result.
CON CEP' TION, thought; idea.
DEF' ER ENCE, respect.
PHYS I CAL, material.
AR' RANT, mere; vile.
TIME'-BAN DI ED, time-lost.
DE VEL' OP ED, brought out.
CON STEL LA' TIONS, clusters of stars.
DE SIGN ED, planned.
COM BIN' ED, united.
UNINTERRUPTED, (UN, _not_; INTER, _in between_; RUPTED,
_broken_;) not broken in between; unbroken.
It is sometimes desirable to have each member of the class read a piece
complete in itself. To answer this end, the following collection of
brief, though beautiful productions, have been brought together all
under one head.
CHOICE EXTRACTS.
I.
WHAT REALLY BENEFITS US.
It is not what we earn, but what we save, that makes us rich. It is not
what we eat, but what we digest, that makes us strong. It is not what we
read, but what we remember, that makes us learned. It is not what we
intend, but what we do, that makes us useful. It is not a few faint
wishes, but a life-long struggle, that makes us valiant.
II.
GOD'S LOVE.
There's not a flower that decks the vale,
There's not a beam that lights the mountain,
There's not a shrub that scents the gale,
There's not a wind that stirs the fountain,
There's not a hue that paints the rose,
There's not a leaf around us lying,
But in its use or beauty shows
God's love to us, and love undying!
III.
LIFE-WORK.
To acquire a thorough knowledge of our own hearts and characters, to
restrain every irregular inclination, to subdue every rebellious
passion, to purify the motives of our conduct, to form ourselves to that
temperance which no pleasure can seduce, to that meekness which no
provocation can ruffle, to that patience which no affliction can
overwhelm, and that integrity which no interest can shake; _this is the
task which is assigned to us_,--a task which can not be performed
without the utmost diligence and care.
IV.
HUMILITY.
The brightest stars are burning suns;
The deepest water stillest runs;
The laden bee the lowest flies;
The richest mine the deepest lies;
The stalk that's most replenished,
Doth bow the most its modest head.
Thus, deep Humility we find
The mark of every master-mind;
The highest-gifted lowliest bends,
And merit meekest condescends,
And shuns the fame that fools adore,--
That puff that bids a feather soar.
V.
BENEFITS OF ADVERSITY.
A smooth sea never made a skillful mariner. Neither do uninterrupted
prosperity and success qualify man for usefulness or happiness. The
storms of adversity, like the storms of the ocean, rouse the faculties
and excite the invention, prudence, skill, and fortitude of the voyager.
VI.
OUR MOUNTAIN HOMES.
MRS. S.R.A. BARNES.
Why turn we to our mountain homes
With more than filial feeling?
'Tis _here_ that Freedom's altars rise,
And Freedom's sons are kneeling!
Why sigh we not for softer climes?
Why cling to that which bore us?
_'Tis here we tread on Freedom's soil,_
_With Freedom's sunshine o'er us!_
VII.
MAKE A BEGINNING.
If you do not begin, you will never come to the end. The first weed
pulled up in the garden, the first seed set in the ground, the first
dollar put in the savings-bank, and the first mile traveled on a
journey, are all important things; they make a _beginning_, and thereby
give a hope, a promise, a pledge, an assurance that you are in earnest
in what you have undertaken. How many a poor, idle, erring, hesitating
outcast is now creeping his way through the world, who might have held
up his head and prospered, if, instead of putting off his resolutions of
amendment and industry, he had only made a beginning!
VIII.
INFLUENCE.
GEORGE W. BUNGAY.
1. Drop follows drop, and swells
With rain the sweeping river;
Word follows word, and tells
A truth that lives forever.
2. Flake follows flake, like sprites
Whose wings the winds dissever;
Thought follows thought, and lights
The realm of mind forever.
3. Beam follows beam to cheer,
The cloud a bolt might shiver;
Throb follows throb, and fear
Gives place to joy forever.
4. The drop, the flake, the beam,
Teach us a lesson ever;
The word, the thought, the dream
Impress the soul forever.
IX.
PLEASURE IN ACQUIRING KNOWLEDGE.
CAROLINE F. ORNE.
1. Note the ecstatic joy of the student, who has labored long over a
problem or proposition, but finally comes to a logical conclusion; who
has struggled with the misty darkness of his own mind, for a clear view
of some difficult subject, until the clouds, one after another, have
dispersed, and he beholds, with his mental vision, in bright and
glorious light, the conception for which he labored. Think you he would
exchange his joys for the pleasures of sense'? It is of a higher and
more ennobling character, and not to be bartered for paltry wealth.
2. What dignity and self-respect invest the man of thought! His very
looks bespeak of mind. He is approached with deference, as a being of
higher order in the scale of intelligence,--as one who has a right to
command and be obeyed. For what moves mind, but mind? A strong
intellect, coming in contact with one of less energy, will as naturally
move it, as superior physical strength will overcome the weaker.
X.
WHAT IS FAME?
MOTHERWELL.
What is glory`? What is fame`?
The echo of a long-lost name`;
A breath`, an idle hour's brief talk`;
The shadow of an arrant naught`;
A flower that blossoms for a day`,
Dying next morrow';
A stream that hurries on its way,
Singing of sorrow';
A fortune that to lose were gain`;
A word of praise, perchance of blame`;
The wreck of a time-bandied name`--
_Ay` this is glory`! this is fame`!_
XI.
CULTIVATED INTELLECT.
Ah! well do we all know the worth of intelligence, the power of
knowledge, and the beauty and glory of wisdom. It is _educated manhood_
that wakes up the sleeping soil, covers the earth with good, that
gathers in the golden harvest, that clothes the naked, that feeds the
hungry. It is the _cultivated mind_ that applies the strength of the ox
and the fleetness of the horse; that bridges the river, that turns to
use the flying winds, that makes the lightning its swift messenger, that
makes beautiful palaces of dull clay, that rouses the dead ore to active
life, that covers the sea with ships, and the land with mighty engines
of wealth. It is the _developed intellect_ that flies through the upper
air, that mingles with the stars, that follows the moon in her course,
that overtakes the constellations in their orbits, that weighs the sun,
that measures the distance to the polar star. It is the _enlightened
soul_ that worships God.
XII.
GOD'S WORKS ATTEST HIS GREATNESS.
MRS. OPIE.
1. There's not a leaf within the bower;
There's not a bird upon the tree;
There's not a dew-drop on the flower,
But bears the impress, Lord, of Thee.
2. Thy hand the varied leaf designed,
And gave the bird its thrilling tone;
Thy power the dewdrop's tints combined,
Till like the diamond's blaze they shone.
3. Yes, dewdrops, leaves, and buds, and all
The smallest, like the greatest things,--
The sea's vast space, the earth's wide ball,
Alike proclaim Thee King of kings.
4. But man alone to bounteous Heaven,
Thanksgiving's conscious strains can raise;
To favored man alone 'tis given
To join the angelic choir in praise!
* * * * *
LESSON LXXVII.
MO NOT' O NOUS, dull; uniform.
HAR POON', barbed spear.
AG' I TA TED, disturbed.
RE VER' BER ATES, rebounds; re-echoes.
WRITHES, twists, or or turns in agony.
CON TOR' TIONS, twistings; writhings.
VE LOC' I TY, swiftness.
IG NITES', takes fire.
FRIC' TION, rubbing together.
COILS, winds into a ring.
PRO JECT' ED, thrown out or forward.
VO CIF' ER A TED, shouted.
IN FU' RI A TED, enraged.
UN RE LENT' ING, unfeeling.
CON VUL' SIONS, violent spasms.
REN COUN' TER, fight; conflict.
CAPTURE OF THE WHALE.
1. Let the reader suppose himself on the deck of a South-seaman,
cruising in the North Pacific ocean. He may be musing over some past
event, the ship may be sailing gently along over the smooth ocean, every
thing around solemnly still, with the sun pouring its intense rays with
dazzling brightness. Suddenly the monotonous quietude is broken by an
animated voice from the masthead, exclaiming, _"There he spouts!"_
2. The captain starts on deck in an instant, and inquires _"Where
away?"_ but, perhaps, the next moment every one aloft and on deck, can
perceive an enormous whale lying about a quarter of a mile from the
ship, on the surface of the sea, having just come up to breathe,--his
large "hump" projecting three feet out of the water. At the end of every
ten seconds, the spout is seen rushing from the fore part of his
enormous head, followed by the cry of every one on board, who join in
the chorus of _"There again!"_ keeping time with the duration of the
spout.
3. But, while they have been looking, a few seconds have expired. They
rush into the boats, which are directly lowered to receive them; and in
two minutes from the time of first observing the whale, three or four
boats are down, and are darting through the water with their utmost
speed toward their intended victim, perhaps accompanied with a song from
the headsman, who urges the quick and powerful plying of the oar, with
the common whaling chant of
"Away, my boys, away, my boys, 'tis time for us to go."
4. But, while they are rushing along, the whale is breathing; they have
yet, perhaps, some distance to pull before they can get a chance of
striking him with the harpoon. His "spoutings are nearly out," he is
about to descend, or he hears the boats approaching. The few sailors
left on board, and who are anxiously watching the whale and the gradual
approach of the boats, exclaim, _"Ah, he is going down!"_ Yet he spouts
again, but slowly, the water is seen agitated around him; the spectators
on board with breathless anxiety think they perceive him rising in
preparation for his descent. _"He will be lost!"_ they exclaim; for the
boats are not yet near enough to strike him, and the men are still
bending their oars in each boat with all their strength, to claim the
honor of the first blow with the harpoon.
5. The bow-boat has the advantage of being the nearest to the whale; the
others, for fear of disturbing the unconscious monster, are now ordered
to drop astern. One more spout is seen slowly curling forth,--it is his
last; but the boat shoots rapidly alongside of the gigantic creature.
_"Peak your oars!"_ exclaims the mate, and directly they flourish in the
air; the glistening harpoon is seen above the head of the harpooner. In
an instant it is darted with unerring force and aim, and is buried
deeply in the side of the huge animal. It is "socket up;" that is, it is
buried in his flesh up to the socket which admits the handle or pole of
the harpoon.
6. A cheer from those in the boats, and from the seamen on board,
reverberates along the still deep at the same moment. The sea, which a
moment before was unruffled, now becomes lashed into foam by the immense
strength of the wounded whale, which, with its vast tail, strikes in all
directions at his enemies. Now his enormous head rises high into the
air, then his flukes are seen lashing everywhere, his huge body writhes
in violent contortions from the agony the harpoon has inflicted. The
water all around him is a mass of foam, and the sounds of the blows from
his tail on the surface of the sea, can be heard for miles!
7. _"Stern all!"_ cries the headsman; but the whale suddenly disappears;
he has "sounded;" the line is running through the groove at the head of
the boat, with lightning-like velocity; it smokes; it ignites from the
heat produced by the friction; but the headsman, cool and collected,
pours water upon it as it passes. But an oar is now held up in their
boat; it signifies that their line is rapidly running out; two hundred
fathoms are nearly exhausted; up flies one of the other boats, and
"bends on" another line, just in time to save that which was nearly
lost.
8. But still the monster descends; he is seeking to rid himself of his
enemies by descending deeply into the dark and unknown depths of the
vast ocean. Two more lines are exhausted,--he is _six hundred fathoms
deep! "Stand ready to bend on!"_ cries the mate to the fourth boat; (for
sometimes they take the whole four lines away with them,--_eight hundred
fathoms!!_) but, it is not required, he is rising. _"Haul in the
slack!"_ observes the headsman, while the boat-steerer coils it again
carefully into the tubs as it is drawn up.
9. The whale is now seen approaching the surface; the gurgling and
bubbling water which rises, proclaims that he is near; his nose starts
from the sea; the rushing spout is projected high and suddenly, from his
agitation. The slack of the line is now coiled in the tubs, and those in
the fast boat, haul themselves gently toward the whale. The boat-steerer
places the headsman close to the fin of the trembling animal, who
immediately buries his long lance in the vitals of the leviathan, while,
at the same moment, those in one of the other boats, dart another
harpoon into his opposite side. Then, _"Stern all!"_ is again
vociferated, and the boats shoot rapidly away from the danger.
10. Mad with the agony which he endures from these fresh attacks, the
infuriated "sea monster" rolls over and over, and coils an amazing
length of line around him. He rears his enormous head, and, with
wide-expanded jaws, snaps at every thing around him. He rushes at the
boats with his head,--they are propelled before him with vast swiftness,
and sometimes utterly destroyed.
11. He is lanced again,--and his pain appears more than he can bear. He
throws himself, in his agony, completely out of his element; the boats
are violently jerked, by which one of the lines is snapped asunder; at
the same time the other boat is upset, and its crew are swimming for
their lives. The whale is now free! he passes along the surface with
remarkable swiftness, "going head out;" but the two boats that have not
yet "fastened," and are fresh and free, now give chase.
12. The whale becomes exhausted from the blood which flows from his deep
and dangerous wounds, and the two hundred fathoms of line belonging to
the overturned boat, which he is dragging after him through the water,
checks him in his course; his pursuers again overtake him, and another
harpoon is darted and buried deeply in his flesh.
13. The fatal lance is, at length, given; the blood gushes from the
nostrils of the unfortunate animal in a thick, black stream, which
stains the clear blue water of the ocean to a considerable distance
around the scene of the affray. The immense creature may now again
endeavor to "sound," to escape from his unrelenting pursuers; but he is
powerless. He soon rises to the surface, and passes slowly along until
the death-pang seizes him, when his appearance is awful in the extreme.
14. Suffering from suffocation, or from the stoppage of some important
organ, the whole strength of his enormous frame is set in motion, for a
few seconds, when his convulsions throw him into a hundred different
contortions of the most violent description, by which the sea is beaten
into foam, and boats are sometimes crushed to atoms, with their crews.
15. But this violent action being soon over, the now unconscious animal
passes rapidly along, describing in his rapid course the segment of a
circle; this is his "flurry," which ends in his sudden dissolution. The
mighty rencounter is finished. The gigantic animal rolls over on his
side, and floats an inanimate mass on the surface of the crystal
deep,--a victim to the tyranny and selfishness, as well as a wonderful
proof of the _great power of the mind of man_.
QUESTIONS.--1. How are whales generally discovered? 2. Why do they come
to the surface of the water? 3. How far do they sometimes descend in the
ocean? 4. Describe the manner in which they are captured.
* * * * *
LESSON LXXVIII.
A'ER O NAUT, one who sails in the air.
RE DOUB LED, repeated.
MAG NIF I CENT, grand; splendid.
EL' E VA TED, raised; excited.
GON' DO LA, small boat.
BE GIRT', surrounded.
RO TA RY, turning; revolving.
IN TEN' SI TY, extreme degree.
A' ER OS TAT, air-balloon.
IN TER MI NA BLE, boundless.
VA' RI E GA TED, diversified; varied.
VERG' ING, tending; inclining.
OB LIQUE' LY, slantingly.
RES PI RA' TION, act of breathing.
ZE' NITH, point in the heavens directly over head.
MAN' DI BLES, jaws.
EU ROC' LY DON, tempestuous wind.
LEAVES FROM AN AERONAUT.
WILLIS GAYLORD CLARK.
1. My hour had now come, and I entered the car. With a singular taste,
the band struck up, at this moment, the melting air of "Sweet Home." It
almost overcame me. A thousand associations of youth, friends, of all
that I must leave, rushed upon my mind. But I had no leisure for
sentiment. A buzz ran through the assemblage; unnumbered hands were
clapping, unnumbered hearts beating high; and _I_ was the cause. Every
eye was upon me. There was pride in the thought.
2. "Let go!" was the word. The cheers redoubled; handkerchiefs waved
from many a fair hand; bright faces beamed from every window, and on
every side. One dash with my knife, and I rose aloft, a habitant of air.
How magnificent was the sight which now burst upon me! How sublime were
my sensations! I waved the flag of my country; the cheers of the
multitude from a thousand housetops, reached me on the breeze; and a
taste of the rarer atmosphere elevated my spirits into ecstasy.
3. The city, with a brilliant sunshine striking the spires and domes,
now unfolded to view a sight incomparably beautiful. My gondola went
easily upward, cleaving the depths of heaven like a vital thing. A
diagram placed before you, on the table, could not permit you to trace
more definitely than I now could, the streets, the highways, basins,
wharves, and squares of the town. The hum of the city arose to my ear,
as from a vast bee-hive; and I seemed the monarch-bee, directing the
swarm.
4. I heard the rattling of carriages, the hearty _yo-heavo-s!_ of
sailors from the docks that, begirt with spars, hemmed the city round. I
was a spectator of all, yet aloof, and alone. Increasing stillness
attended my way; and, at last, the murmurs of earth came to my ear like
the vast vibrations of a bell. My car tilted and trembled, as I rose. A
swift wind sometimes gave the balloon a rotary motion, which made me
deathly sick for a moment; but strong emotion conquered all my physical
ailings.
5. My brain ached with the intensity of my rapture. Human sounds had
fainted from my ear. I was in the abyss of heaven, and _alone_ with my
God. I could tell my direction by the sun on my left; and, as his rays
played on the aerostat, it seemed only a bright bubble, wavering in the
sky, and I, a suspended mote, hung by chance to its train. Looking below
me, the distant Sound and Long Island appeared to the east; the bay lay
to the south, sprinkled with shipping; under me, the city, girded with
bright rivers and sparry forests.
6. The free wind was on my cheek, and in my locks; afar, the ocean
rolled its long, blue waves, checkered with masses of shadow, and gushes
of ruby sunlight; to the north and west, the interminable land,
variegated like a map, dotted with purple, and green, and silver, faded
to the eye. The atmosphere which I now breathed, seemed to dilate my
heart at every breath. I uttered some audible expressions. My voice was
weaker than the faintest sound of a reed. There was no object near to
make it reverb or echo.
7. My barometer now denoted an immense hight; and, as I looked upward
and around, the concave above seemed like a mighty waste of purple air,
verging to blackness. Below, it was lighter; but a long, lurid bar of
cloud stretched along the west, temporarily excluding the sun. The
shadows rushed afar into the void, and a solemn, Sabbath twilight
reigned around. I was now startled by a fluttering in my gondola. It was
my carrier-pigeon. I had forgotten him entirely. I attached a string to
his neck, with a label, announcing my hight, then nearly four miles, and
the state of the barometer.
8. As he sat on the side of the car, and turned his tender eyes upon me
in mute supplication, every feather shivering with apprehension, I felt
that it was a guilty act to push him into the waste beneath. But it was
done; he attempted to rise, but I out-sped him; he then fell obliquely,
fluttering and moaning, till I lost him in the haze. My greatest
altitude had not yet been reached. I was now five miles from _terra
firma_. [Footnote: Solid earth.] I began to breathe with difficulty. The
atmosphere was too rare for safe respiration.
9. I pulled my valve-cord to descend. It refused to obey my hand. For a
moment I was horror-struck. What was to be done? If I ascended much
higher, the balloon would explode. I threw over some tissue paper to
test my progress. It is well known that this will _rise_ very swiftly.
It _fell_, as if blown downward by a wind from the zenith. I was going
upward like an arrow. I attempted to pray, but my parched lips could not
move. I seized the cord again, with desperate energy. Blessed Heaven! it
moved.
10. I threw out more tissue. It rose to me like a wing of joy. I was
descending. Though far from sunset, it was now dark about me, except a
track of blood-red haze in the direction of the sun. I encountered a
strong current of wind; mist was about me; it lay like dew upon my coat.
At last, a thick bar of vapor being past, what a scene was disclosed! A
storm was sweeping through the sky, nearly a mile beneath; and I looked
down upon an ocean of rainbows, rolling in indescribable grandeur, to
the music of the thunder-peal, as it moaned afar and near, on the coming
and dying wind.
11. A frightened eagle had ascended through the tempest, and sailed for
minutes by my side, looking at me with panting weariness, and quivering
mandibles, but with a dilated eye, whose keen iris flashed unsubdued.
Proud emblem of my country! As he fanned me with his heavy wing, and
looked with a human intelligence at the car, my pulse bounded with
exulting rapture. Like the genius of my native land, he had risen above
every storm, unfettered and FREE.
12. But my transports were soon at an end. He attempted to light on the
balloon, and my heart sunk; I feared his huge claws would tear the silk.
I pulled my cord; he rose, as I sank, and the blast swept him from my
view in a moment. A flock of wild-fowl, beat by the storm, were coursing
below, on bewildered pinions; and, as I was nearing them, I knew I was
descending. A breaking rift now admitted the sun. The rainbows tossed
and gleamed; chains of fleecy rack, shining in prismatic rays of gold,
and purple, and emerald, "beautiful exceedingly," spread on every hand.
13. Vast curtains of clouds pavilioned the immensity, brighter than
celestial roses; masses of mist were lifted on high, like strips of
living fire, more radiant than the sun himself, when his glorious
noontide culminates from the equator. A kind of aerial Euroclydon now
smote my car, and three of the cords parted, which tilted my gondola to
the side, filling me with terror. I caught the broken cords in my hand,
but could not tie them.
14. The storm below was now rapidly passing away, and beneath its waving
outline, to the south-east, I saw the ocean. Ships were speeding on
their course, and their bright sails melting into distance; a rainbow
hung afar; and the rolling anthems of the Atlantic came like celestial
hymnings to my ear. Presently all was clear below me. The fresh air
played around. I had taken a noble circuit; and my last view was better
than the first, I was far over the bay, "afloating sweetly to the west."
The city, colored by the last blaze of day, brightened remotely to the
view.
15. Below, ships were hastening to and fro through the Narrows, and the
far country lay smiling like an Eden. Bright rivers ran like ribbons of
gold and silver, till they were lost in the vast inland, stretching
beyond the view; the gilded mountains were flinging their purple shadows
over many a vale; bays were blushing to the farewell day-beams; and now
I was passing over a green island. I sailed to the mainland; saw the
tall, old trees waving to the evening breeze; heard the rural lowing of
herds, and the welcome sound of human voices; and, finally, sweeping
over forest-tops and embowered villages, at last, descended with the
sun, among a kind-hearted, surprised, and hospitable community, in as
pretty a town as one could desire to see, "safe and well."
QUESTIONS.--1. What demonstrations were made by the people as the
aeronaut began to ascend? 2. How did the city and other objects appear
to him? 3. What could he hear? 4. Describe the appearance of the ocean.
5. What did he do with his carrier-pigeon? 6. How high did he ascend?
7. Describe his descent. 8. What is said about the eagle that came near
him? 9. Describe the appearance of the clouds beneath him.
* * * * *
LESSON LXXIX.
BOUN' TY, charity; favor.
FRU' GAL, prudent; economical.
FLOUR' ISH ED, thrived; prospered.
DIS CHARG' ED, performed.
BREED' ING, education.
EM BRAC' ED, accepted.
MAIN TAIN' ED, supported.
TRUDG' ED, traveled.
BE GUIL' ED, amused.
LE' GAL, lawful.
TWAIN, two.
BE WITCH' ING, charming.
YOUNK' ER, lad; youngster.
MED' I TA TIVE, thoughtful.
PRO VOK' ED, (PRO, _forward, forth_; VOKED, _called_;) called
forth; excited.
IN CLUDE', (IN, _in_; CLUDE, _shut_;) shut in; inclose.
IN SERT', (IN, _in_; SERT, _join, set_;) join, or set in; put in.
THE DAPPLE MARE.
JOHN G. SAXE.
1. "Once on a time," as ancient tales declare,
There lived a farmer in a quiet dell
In Massachusetts, but exactly where,
Or when, is really more than I can tell,--
Except that quite above the public bounty,
He lived within his means and Bristol county.
2. By patient labor and unceasing care,
He earned, and so enjoyed, his daily bread;
Contented always with his frugal fare,
Ambition to be rich ne'er vexed his head;
And thus unknown to envy, want, or wealth,
He flourished long in comfort, peace, and health.
3. The gentle partner of his humble lot,
The joy and jewel of his wedded life,
Discharged the duties of his peaceful cot,
Like a true woman and a faithful wife;
Her mind improved by thought and useful reading,
Kind words and gentle manners showed her breeding.
4. Grown old, at last, the farmer called his son,
The youngest, (and the favorite I suppose,) And said,--
"I long have thought, my darling John,
'Tis time to bring my labors to a close;
So now to toil I mean to bid adieu,
And deed, my son, the homestead-farm to you."
5. The boy embraced the boon with vast delight,
And promised, while their precious lives remained,
He'd till and tend the farm from morn till night,
And see his parents handsomely maintained;
God help him, he would never fail to love, nor
Do aught to grieve his gen'rous old gov'nor.
6. The farmer said,--"Well, let us now proceed,
(You know there's always danger in delay,)
And get 'Squire Robinson to write the deed;
Come,--where's my staff?--we'll soon be on the way."
But John replied, with tender, filial care,
"You're old and weak--I'll catch the Dapple Mare."
7. The mare was saddled, and the old man got on,
The boy on foot trudged cheerfully along,
The while, to cheer his sire, the duteous son
Beguiled the weary way with talk and song.
Arrived, at length, they found the 'Squire at home,
And quickly told him wherefore they had come.
8. The deed was writ in proper form of law,
With many a "foresaid," "therefore," and "the same,"
And made throughout without mistake or flaw,
To show that John had now a legal claim
To all his father's land--conveyed, given, sold,
Quit-claimed, et cetera,[Footnote 1]--to have and hold.
9. Their business done, they left the lawyer's door,
Happier, perhaps, than when they entered there;
And started off as they had done before,--
The son on foot, the father on the mare.
But ere the twain a single mile had gone,
A brilliant thought occurred to Master John.
10. Alas for truth!--alas for filial duty!--
Alas that Satan in the shape of pride,
(His most bewitching form save that of beauty,)
Whispered the lad--"My boy, you ought to ride!"
"Get off!" exclaimed the younker--"'t isn't fair
That you should always ride the Dapple Mare!"
11. The son was lusty, and the sire was old,
And so, with many an oath and many a frown,
The hapless father did as he was told;
The man got off the steed, the boy got on,
And rode away as fast as she could trot,
And left his sire to trudge it home on foot!
12. That night, while seated round the kitchen fire
The household sat, cheerful as if no word
Or deed, provoked the injured father's ire,
Or aught to make him sad had e'er occurred,--
Thus spoke he to his son: "We quite forgot,
I think, t'include that little turnip lot!"
13. "I'm very sure, my son, it wouldn't hurt it,"
Calmly observed the meditative sire,
"To take the deed, my lad, and just insert it;"
Here the old man inserts it--_in the fire!_
Then cries aloud with most triumphant air,
"Who now, my son, shall ride the Dapple Mare?"
[Footnote 1: And so forth.]
QUESTIONS.--1. What proposition did the father make to his son? 2. What
did the son promise to do? 3. How did the son treat his father after he
got the deed? 4. What did the old gentleman do?
* * * * *
LESSON LXXX.
HARD' I HOOD, bravery.
MAIN TRUCK, small cap at the top of a flagstaff or masthead.
A GHAST', horrified.
GROUPS, clusters; crowds.
PAL' LID, pale.
LU' RID, dismal; gloomy.
HUE, color.
RIV' ET TED, firmly fixed.
FOLD' ED, embraced; clasped.
A LEAP FOR LIFE.
GEORGE P. MORRIS.
1. Old Ironsides at anchor lay,
(sl.) In the harbor of Mahon [Footnote 1];
A dead calm rested on the bay,--
The waves to sleep had gone,--
When little Jack,[Footnote 2] the captain's son,
With gallant hardihood,
Climbed shroud and spar,--and then upon
The main-truck rose and stood!
2. A shudder ran through every vein,--
All eyes were turned on high!
There stood the boy, with dizzy brain,
Between the sea and sky!
No hold had he above,--below,
Alone he stood in air!
At that far hight none dared to go,--
No aid could reach him there.
3. We gazed,--but not a man could speak;
With horror all aghast,
In groups, with pallid brow and cheek,
We watched the quivering mast!
The atmosphere grew thick and hot,
And of a lurid hue,
As, riveted unto the spot,
Stood officers and crew.
4. The father came on deck. He gasped,
"O God, Thy will be done!"
Then suddenly a rifle grasped,
And aimed it at his son!
"Jump far out, boy, into the wave!
Jump, or I fire!" he said.
"That only chance your life can save:
('') Jump! jump, boy!" He obeyed.
5. He sank,--he rose,--he lived,--he moved,--
He for the ship struck out!
On board we hailed the lad beloved
With many a manly shout.
His father drew, in silent joy,
Those wet arms round his neck,
Then folded to his heart the boy,
And fainted on the deck!
[Footnote 1: MA HON', (_Ma hone_,) a sea-port town on the island of
Minorca, in the Mediterranean Sea.]
[Footnote 2: A name commonly applied to a young sailor.]
QUESTIONS.--1. What did the captain's son do, on board the Ironsides? 2.
Describe his situation. 3. What is said of the officers and crew? 4.
What did the father say and do? 5. What did the boy do?
* * * * *
LESSON LXXXI.
COM MIN' GLE, mix or unite.
PE DES' TRI AN, traveler on foot.
PROM' I NENT, important.
TRAG' lC, fatal; mournful.
NAR RATE', tell; relate.
YORE, olden time.
WI' LY, craft; cunning.
RE LENT' LESS, hard-hearted; cruel.
WIG' WAM, Indian hut or cabin.
EM BARK' ED, went aboard.
TWANG, quick, sharp sound.
SPA' CIOUS, large; capacious.
WA' RI LY, cautiously.
MYS TE' RI OUS LY, strangely.
OM' IN OUS, foreboding ill.
IM PLA' CA BLE, relentless.
UN TRACE' A BLE, (UN, _not_; TRACE, _mark_; ABLE, _that can be_;)
that can not be marked, or traced; not found out.
THE INDIAN BRIDE'S REVENGE.
L.M. STOWELL.
1. In the State of New York, where the dark, foaming waters of the Black
River, after roaring and surging through many pleasant fields, beautiful
groves, and dense woodlands, commingle with the clear, cold waters of
Lake Ontario, the wandering pedestrian or the lone fisherman may see,
resting upon a gravelly flat, the remains of an _old Indian canoe_,
whose once beautiful proportions, now untraceable in its rottenness,
bore a prominent part in the tragic event I am about to narrate.
2. Through these pleasant valleys, among the broken hills, and in the
majestic forests, of yore, the wily Indian and his dusky mate, held
undisputed possession; and many are the incidents, yet unwritten, of
tragic and thrilling interest, that transpired around the red men's
camp-fire, ere the white man disturbed their forest homes.
3. Si ous' ka, or the "Wild Flower," was the daughter of a powerful
chief of the Onondagas, and the only being ever known to turn the
relentless old chief from a savage purpose. Something of this influence
was owing to her great beauty; but more to the gentleness of which that
beauty was the emblem. Her downcast eye, her trembling lip, her quiet,
submissive motion, all bespoke its language; and many were the young
chieftains that sought to win her affections.
4. Among her admirers were two young chiefs of the Oneidas, with whom
the Onondagas were on the most friendly terms. Si ous' ka's father, in
order to cherish the friendly feeling of the two tribes, and, at the
same time, strengthen his power, besought her to accept the more
powerful chief, "Eagle Eye." He did not plead in vain; for she had long
loved the young Oneida.
5. One bright sunny morning, in early spring, as the old chief was out
hunting, the young Oneida crossed his path, upon which the old man
advanced, and, laying his hand upon his shoulder, pointed to the
dwelling of Si ous' ka. Not a word was spoken. The proud old man and the
strong, young chief proceeded toward her wigwam, and entered together.
6. Si ous' ka was seated in one corner, engaged upon some fancy
basket-work, and did not notice their approach until they had entered.
The old chief looked upon her with an expression of love, which his
stern countenance never wore except in her presence. "Sious'ka," he said
in a subdued tone, "Go to the wigwam of the Oneida, that your father's
tribe may be strengthened, and many moons may shine upon their peace and
prosperity."
7. There was mingled joy and modesty in the upward glance of the "Wild
Flower" of the Onondagas, and, when the young chief saw the light of her
mild eye suddenly and timidly vailed by its deeply-fringed lid, he knew
that her love had lost none of its power. The marriage song was soon
sung in the royal wigwam, in which the sweet voice of Sious'ka was
happily heard to mingle.
8. When the rejected chief of the Oneidas heard that the "Wild Flower"
had mated with the "Eagle Eye," his wrath knew no bounds, and he
secretly resolved upon revenge. Two years passed away, and, as yet, no
good opportunity had arrived; for he dared not attack "Eagle Eye" in
open conflict, for fear of his superior powers; and, assassin-like, he
sought to give the blow unperceived.
9. At length, the spring came, and a number of the tribe prepared to
visit Lake Ontario, on a fishing and hunting excursion. Among the number
who went, were the "Eagle Eye," Sious'ka, and their little boy. They
were obliged to carry their light, birchen canoes from home, and these
were packed with the necessary tackle, skins for beds, &c. The strong
men of the party carried the canoes on their shoulders, and the women
the smaller articles of furniture.
10. They had advanced across the country, until they reached the Black
River, and, by carrying their canoes around falls and rapids, gently
floated down the stream till they reached the great falls, about six
miles from the Lake. Here they halted for the night, and encamped about
half a mile above the falls.
11. The morning came; and, as the first beam of the rising sun pierced
the forest shade, the party again embarked in their canoes for the mouth
of the river, the gaudy canoe of Si ous' ka, which her father had given
her, taking the lead. They had scarcely started from the shore, ere the
sharp twang of a bow-string was heard from the shore, and an unerring
arrow pierced the heart of "Eagle Eye." He fell over the side of the
canoe, and was swept by the current over the great falls.
12. The party immediately started in pursuit of the coward murderer; but
they sought in vain. His hiding-place was too sure,--he had taken refuge
in a cave, the entrance of which was hid from observation by a thick
clump of cedars. Here he remained till he was certain the company had
departed. This cave is still there, and I have often been in its many
chambers,--some of which are very spacious.
13. The fatal shaft was winged from the bow of the revenged Oneida
chief. Having been apprised of the expedition, he had warily dogged the
steps of the party, until a favorable opportunity presented itself, and
then satisfied his secret longing for revenge upon the enemy, whom he
did not dare to attack even-handed. The party sought him far and near;
but, as no trace of any one could be found, they imagined, with
superstitious fear, that the "Great Spirit" had thus summoned "Eagle
Eye" to the "Spirit's Hunting Ground."
14. When they returned to their canoes, no traces of Si ous' ka and her
child were to be found. They, too, had mysteriously disappeared, and the
whole party, with ominous silence, hastened around the falls, and away
from the fearful place. When Si ous' ka saw the fatal shaft pierce her
companion, with, a fearful shriek she fell into the bottom of the canoe,
hid herself in the furs, and immediately her reason forsook her.
15. When she recovered, she found that her canoe, urged on by the
current, had floated into a large cave, and was firmly wedged in between
two rocks; and her little boy, with his bow and arrow in his hand, was
quietly sleeping by her side. Dislodging the canoe, she plied the oars,
and was soon outside the cave.
16. On finding her people had left her, she sought the shore, and,
fastening the canoe, proceeded below the falls, where she found the body
of the ill-fated "Eagle Eye," where it had washed ashore. With
superhuman strength, she bore the mangled body to a thick grove of
cedars, and, with her own hands, dug a rude grave, and covered his
remains with dried leaves and earth. That night she kept her lonely
watch beside the grave of all that she held dear on earth, save her boy,
intending to follow the party on the morrow.
17. The morning came, and the mid-day sun began to descend toward the
western hills, ere she left the grave of the murdered chief. But, at
length, she sorrowfully departed; and, on arriving where she moored the
canoe the day before, what was her surprise to see the murderer of her
husband, quietly sleeping upon the skins where last "Eagle Eye" had
reposed, in the bow of the canoe.
18. From that moment Si ous' ka was changed. Her quiet, submissive air
immediately gave place to fierce sternness, and the eye that had always
beamed with the smile of love, shot forth flashes of bitter hate and
passion, implacable as the most bloodthirsty of her tribe. Noiselessly
throwing the oars from the boat, with a wild shriek, she quickly swung
it around into the rapidly rolling current, and it was hurried toward
the brink of that awful cataract, over which no living being had ever
passed alive.
19. The young chief, awakened by that fearful, exulting cry of revenge,
and seeing the peril of his situation, leaped from the bark that was
hurrying him to sure destruction, and vainly sought to gain the shore.
After struggling with the swift tide for a moment, in which he was
carried nearer and nearer the awful brink, he turned, and, with a wild,
unearthly yell, plunged over, and the boiling waters only responded to
his death-wail, as he sunk to rise no more, and his spirit joined that
of his victim in the "Spirit Land."
20. After the gentle "Wild Flower" had avenged the death of the "Eagle
Eye," she returned to her father's wigwam, and spent the remainder of
her life to the memory of her heart's first devotion. The canoe, all
battered and broken, floated to the mouth of the river, bottom side up,
where it was seen by one of the party while fishing, drawn to the shore,
and left to decay. The party supposed that "Eagle Eye," Sious'ka, and
her child, had all perished in some mysterious manner.
QUESTIONS.--1. Who was Sious'ka? 2. Who became her husband? 3. What
effect had her marriage upon the rejected Oneida chief? 4. In what way
did he seek revenge? 5. How did Sious'ka avenge the death of her
husband?
* * * * *
LESSON LXXXII.
EN TER TAIN' ED, had; harbored.
PE CUL IAR' I TY, something special.
CHA GRIN'ED, (_sha grin'ed_,) vexed.
MOR' TI FI ED, hurt in feeling.
OUT STRIP', go beyond; excel.
RI' VAL RY, emulation.
RE VERS' ES, troubles; difficulties.
IN VIG' OR A TED, made strong.
DES O LA' TION, waste; ruin.
REF' UGE, shelter; protection.
SYM' PA THIZ ED, (SYM, _with_; PATH, _feeling_; IZE, _make, have_;
ED, _did_;) did have feeling with. See Note on the suffix IZE,
p. 132 of the ANALYSIS.
[Headnote 1: SIS' ER A, captain of the army of the Canaanitish king,
Jabin. He was utterly defeated by Barak. Fleeing on foot, he took refuge
in the tent of Jael, wife of Heber. There, while asleep, Jael drove a
nail through his temples, and so he died. His mother, finding he did not
return from the battle, "looked out at a window, and cried through the
lattice, Why is his chariot so long in coming?" Read 4th and 5th
chapters of Judges.]
A MOTHER'S LOVE.
ALBERT BARNES.
1. Many of us who are advanced beyond the period of childhood, went out
from home to embark on the stormy sea of life. Of the feelings of a
father, and of his interest in our welfare, we have never entertained a
doubt, and our home was dear because he was there; but there was a
peculiarity in the feeling that it was the home of our mother. Where
_she_ lived, there was a place that we felt was _home_. There was _one
place_ where we would always be welcome, _one place_ where we would be
met with a smile, _one place_ where we would be sure of a friend.
2. The world might be indifferent to us. We might be unsuccessful in our
studies or our business. The new friends which we supposed we had made,
might prove to be false. The honor which we thought we deserved, might
be withheld from us. We might be chagrined and mortified by seeing a
rival outstrip us, and bear away the prize which we sought. But there
_was_ a place where no feelings of rivalry were found, and where those
whom the world overlooked, would be sure of a friendly greeting. Whether
pale and wan by study, care, or sickness, or flushed with health and
flattering success, we were _sure_ that we should be welcome there.
3. Though the world was cold toward us, yet there was _one_ who always
rejoiced in our success, and always was affected in our reverses; and
there was a _place_ to which we might go back from the storm which began
to pelt us, where we might rest, and become encouraged and invigorated
for a new conflict. So have I seen a bird, in its first efforts to fly,
leave its nest, and stretch its wings, and go forth to the wide world.
But the wind blew it back, and the rain began to fall, and the darkness
of night began to draw on, and there was no shelter abroad, and it
sought its way back to its nest, to take shelter beneath its mother's
wings, and to be refreshed for the struggles of a new day; but then it
flew away to think of its nest and its mother no more.
4. But not thus did we leave our home when we bade adieu to it to go
forth alone to the manly duties of life. Even amidst the storms that
then beat upon us, and the disappointments that we met with, and the
coldness of the world, we felt still that there _was one_ who
sympathized in our troubles, as well as rejoiced in our success, and
that, whatever might be abroad, when we entered the door of her
dwelling, we should be met with a smile. We expected that a mother, like
the mother of Sisera [Headnote 1], as she "looked out at her window,"
waiting for the coming of her son laden with the spoils of victory,
would look out for _our_ coming, and that _our_ return would renew her
joy and ours in our earlier days.
5. It makes a sad desolation when, from such a place, a mother is taken
away, and when, whatever may be the sorrows or the successes in life,
she is to greet the returning son or daughter no more. The home of our
childhood may be still lovely. The old family mansion--the green
fields--the running stream--the moss-covered well--the trees--the
lawn--the rose--the sweet-brier--may be there. Perchance, too, there may
be an aged father, with venerable locks, sitting in his loneliness, with
every thing to command respect and love; but she is not there. Her
familiar voice is not heard. The mother has been borne forth to sleep by
the side of her children who went before her, and the place is not what
it was.
6. There may be those there whom we much love; but _she_ is not there.
We may have formed new relations in life, tender and strong as they can
be; we may have another home, dear to us as was the home of our
childhood, where there is all in affection, kindness, and religion, to
make us happy; but _that_ home is not what it was, and it will _never_
be what it was again. It is a loosening of one of the cords which bound
us to earth, designed to prepare us for our eternal flight from every
thing dear here below, and to teach us that there is _no_ place here,
that is to be our permanent home.
QUESTIONS.--1. What renders home doubly endearing? 2. Where are we
always welcome? 3. Who always rejoices in our successes, and is affected
in our reverses? 4. Who was Sisera, and what account is given of him?
* * * * *
LESSON LXXXIII.
UN SPOT' TED, pure; unstained.
FAL' TER, fail.
TRA' CER Y, traces; impressions.
IM' PRESS, mark: stamp.
DO MIN' ION, authority; predominance.
SHRINK, withdraw.
PUR SU' ING, following.
STERN ER, harsher; more rigid.
DE FY', dare; challenge.
WHO' SO, any person whatever.
TO' KEN, sign; indication.
BROTH' ER HOOD, fraternity.
THE LIFE-BOOK.
HOME JOURNAL.
1. Write, mother, write!
A new, unspotted book of life before thee,
Thine is the hand to trace upon its pages
The first few characters, to live in glory,
Or live in shame, through long, unending ages!
Write, mother, write!
Thy hand, though woman's, must not faint nor falter:
The lot is on thee,--nerve thee then with care,--
A _mother's tracery_ time may never alter;
Be its first impress, then, the breath of prayer!
Write, mother, write!
2. Write, father, write!
Take thee a pen plucked from an eagle's pinion,
And write _immortal actions_ for thy son;
Teach him that man forgets man's high dominion,
Creeping on earth, leaving _great deeds_ undone!
Write, father, write!
Leave on his life-book a fond father's blessing,
To shield him 'mid temptation, toil, and sin.
And he shall go to glory's field, possessing
_Strength to contend, and confidence to win_.
Write, father, write!
3. Write, sister, write!
Nay, shrink not, for a sister's love is holy!
Write words the angels whisper in thine ears,--
No bud of sweet affection, howe'er lowly,
But planted here, will bloom in after years.
Write, sister, write!
Something to cheer him, his rough way pursuing,
For manhood's lot is sterner far than ours;
He may not pause,--he must be up and doing,
Whilst thou sitt'st idly, dreaming among flowers.
Write, sister, write!
4. Write, brother, write!
Strike a bold blow upon those kindred pages,--
Write; shoulder to shoulder, brother, we will go;
Heart linked to heart, though wild the conflict rages,
We will defy the battle and the foe.
Write, brother, write!
We who have trodden boyhood's path together,
Beneath the summer's sun and winter's sky,
What matter if life brings us some foul weather,
We may be stronger than adversity!
Write, brother, write!
5. Fellow immortal, write!
One GOD reigns in the Heavens,--there is no other,--
And _all mankind are brethren_--thus 'tis spoken,--
And whoso aids a sorrowing, struggling brother,
By kindly word, or deed, or friendly token,
Shall win the favor of our heavenly Father,
Who judges evil, and rewards the good,
And who hath linked the race of man together,
In one vast, universal brotherhood!
Fellow immortal, write!
QUESTIONS.--1. What may the mother write in the Life-Book? 2. What, the
father? 3. What, the sister? 4. What, the brother? 5. What may all
write?
* * * * *
LESSON LXXXIV.
ODE, short poem.
PA TER' NAL, coming by inheritance.
AT TIRE', clothing; raiment.
UN CON CERN' ED LY, without care.
REC RE A' TION, amusement.
IN' NO CENCE, freedom from guilt.
MED I TA' TION, contemplation.
UN LA MENT' ED, unmourned.
ODE ON SOLITUDE.
POPE.
Written when the author was twelve years of age.
1. Happy the man whose wish and care
A few paternal acres bound,
Content to breathe his native air
In his own ground.
2. Whose herds with milk, whose fields with bread,
Whose flocks supply him with attire;
Whose trees in summer yield him shade,
In winter fire.
3. Blest who can unconcern'dly find
Hours, days, and years glide soft away,
In health of body, peace of mind,
Quiet by day.
4. Sound sleep by night; study and ease,
Together mixed; sweet recreation;
And innocence, which most doth please
With meditation.
5. Thus let me live, unseen, unknown;
Thus unlamented let me die;
Steal from the world, and not a stone
Tell where I lie.
QUESTIONS.--1. Who, did the writer think, were happy? 2. How did he wish
to live and die? 3. Analyse the word _recreation_, (RE _back_; CREATION,
_act of bringing into life_;) act of bringing back to life; a reviving.
* * * * *
LESSON LXXXV.
AD MI RA' TION, esteem.
FRA TER' NAL, brotherly.
IN SIG NIF' I CANCE, worthlessness.
CRIT' IC AL, perilous.
THOR' OUGH LY, completely; fully.
COM PRE HEND', understand.
CON VIC' TION, strong belief.
COM PE TI' TION, strife; rivalry.
EM U LA' TION, competition.
IN TRIN' SIC AL LY, really; truly.
AP PRE' CI ATE, value; esteem.
BRAWN, physical strength.
PIN' NA CLE, summit; highest point.
SIN' U OUS, winding; bending.
LE GIT' I MATE, lawful.
REQ' UI SITE, necessary.
CON SER VA' TION, act of keeping.
DE VEL' OP MENT, training.
GETTING THE RIGHT START.
J.G. HOLLAND.
1. The first great lesson a young man should learn, is, that _he knows
nothing;_ and that the earlier and more thoroughly this lesson is
learned, the better it will be for his peace of mind, and his success in
life. A young man bred at home, and growing up in the light of parental
admiration and fraternal pride, can not readily understand how it is,
that every one else can be his equal in talent and acquisition. If bred
in the country, he seeks the life of the town, he will very early obtain
an idea of his insignificance.
2. This is a critical period in his history. The result of his reasoning
will decide his fate. If, at this time, he thoroughly comprehend, and in
his soul admit and accept the fact, that _he knows nothing_ and _is
nothing;_ if he bow to the conviction that his mind and his person are
but ciphers, and that whatever he is _to be_, and is _to win_, must be
achieved by _hard work_, there is abundant hope of him.
3. If, on the contrary, a huge self-conceit still hold possession of
him, and he straightens stiffly up to the assertion of his old and
valueless self,--or, if he sink discouraged upon the threshold of a life
of fierce competitions, and more manly emulations, he might as well be a
dead man. The world has no use for such a man, and he has only to retire
or be trodden upon.
4. When a young man has thoroughly comprehended the fact that _he knows
nothing_, and that, intrinsically, he is of but _little value_, the next
thing for him to learn is that _the world cares nothing for him_,--that
he is the subject of no man's overwhelming admiration and esteem,--that
he must take care of himself.
5. If he be a stranger, he will find every man busy with his own
affairs, and none to look after him. He will not be noticed until he
becomes _noticeable_, and he will not become noticeable, until he _does
something_ to prove that he has an absolute value in society. No letter
of recommendation will give him this, or ought to give him this. No
family connection will give him this, except among those few who think
more of blood than brains.
6. Society demands that a young man _shall be somebody_, not only, but
that _he shall prove his right to the title_; and it has a right to
demand this. Society will not take this matter upon trust,--at least,
not for a long time; for it has been cheated too frequently. Society is
not very particular what a man does, so that it prove him to be a _man_:
then it will bow to him, and make room for him.
7. There is no surer sign of an unmanly and cowardly spirit, than a
vague desire for _help_,--a wish to _depend_, to _lean_ upon somebody,
and enjoy the fruits of the industry of others. There are multitudes of
young men who indulge in dreams of help from some quarter, coming in at
a convenient moment, to enable them to secure the success in life which
they covet. The vision haunts them of some benevolent old gentleman,
with a pocket full of money, a trunk full of mortgages and stocks, and a
mind remarkably appreciative of merit and genius, who will, perhaps,
give or lend them from ten to twenty thousand dollars, with which they
will commence and go on swimmingly.
8. To me, one of the most disgusting sights in the world, is that of a
young man with healthy blood, broad shoulders, and a hundred and fifty
pounds, more or less, of good bone and muscle, standing with his hands
in his pockets, longing for help. I admit that there are positions in
which the most independent spirit may accept of assistance,--may, in
fact, as a choice of evils, desire it; but for a man who is able to help
himself, to desire the help of others in the accomplishment of his plans
of life, is positive proof that he has received a most unfortunate
training, or that there is a leaven of meanness in his composition, that
should make him shudder.
9. When, therefore, a young man has ascertained and fully received the
fact that he does not know any thing, that the world does not care any
thing about him, that what he wins must be won by his own brain and
brawn, and that while he holds in his own hands the means of gaining his
own livelihood and the objects of his life, he can not receive
assistance without compromising his self-respect and selling his
freedom, he is in a fair position for beginning life. When a young man
becomes aware that only by _his own efforts_ can he rise into
companionship and competition with the sharp, strong, and well-drilled
minds around him, he of ready for work, and not before.
10. The next lesson is, that of _patience_, thoroughness in preparation,
and contentment with the regular channels of business effort and
enterprise. This is, perhaps, one of the most difficult to learn, of all
the lessons of life. It is natural for the mind to reach out eagerly for
immediate results.
11. As manhood dawns, and the young man catches in its first light the
pinnacles of realized dreams, the golden domes of high possibilities,
and the purpling hills of great delights, and then looks down upon the
narrow, sinuous, long, and dusty path by which others have reached
them, he is apt to be disgusted with the passage, and to seek for
success through broader channels, by quicker means. Beginning at the
very foot of the hill, and working slowly to the top, seems a very
discouraging process; and precisely at this point, have thousands of
young men made shipwreck of their lives.
12. Let this be understood, then, at starting; that the patient conquest
of difficulties, which rise in the regular and legitimate channels of
business and enterprise, is not only essential in securing the successes
which you seek, but it is essential to that preparation of your mind,
requisite for the enjoyment of your successes, and for retaining them
when gained. It is the general rule of Providence, the world over, and
in all time, that unearned success is a curse. It is the rule of
Providence, that the process of earning success, shall be the
preparation for its conservation and enjoyment.
13. So, day by day, and week by week; so, month after month, and year
after year, _work on_, and in that process gain strength and symmetry,
and nerve and knowledge, that when success, patiently and bravely worked
for, shall come, it may find you prepared to receive it and keep it. The
development which you will get in this brave and patient labor, will
prove itself, in the end, the most valuable of your successes. It will
help to make a _man_ of you. It will give you power and self-reliance.
It will give you not only _self-respect_, but the _respect of your
fellows and the public_.
QUESTIONS.--1. What is the first lesson a young man should learn?
2. What is the next lesson he should learn? 3. What does society demand
of a young man? 4. What is a sure sign of an unmanly and cowardly spirit?
5. When is a young man in a fair position for beginning life? 6. What is
a general rule of Providence?
* * * * *
LESSON LXXXVI.
PRE SUMP' TION, arrogance.
SOPH' ISTS, professed teachers of wisdom.
AC COST' ED, addressed.
GEN' IUS, natural aptitude.
IN DUC' ED, prevailed upon.
PHI LOS' O PHER, lover of wisdom.
BAR' BA ROUS, foreign; uncivilized.
DIS SUADE', turn away from.
EX CESS' IVE. overmuch.
ES TEEM' ED, highly regarded.
RE TRENCH, lessen; curtail.
SU PER' FLU OUS, extravagant; needless.
UN DER TAK' ING, engaging in.
IN CA PAC' I TY, inability.
[Headnote 1: THE MIS' TO CLES, a celebrated Athenian statesman and
military leader, was born about 514 before Christ.]
[Headnote 2: CI' MON, an illustrious Athenian general and statesman,
born about the year 510, before Christ. He belonged to the aristocratic
party of his time, and contributed to the banishment of Themistocles,
the leader of the opposite party. He was also the political opponent of
Pericles.]
[Headnote 3: PER' I CLES, an Athenian statesman, born about 495 before
Christ. He labored to make Athens the capital of all Greece, and the
seat of art and refinement.]
[Headnote 4: PLA' TO, a celebrated Greek philosopher, born in Athens
about the year 429 before Christ. He was a pupil of Socrates.]
THE PRESUMPTION OF YOUTH.
ROLLIN.
1. The young people of Athens, amazed at the glory of
Themistocles,[Headnote 1] of Cimon,[Headnote 2] of Pericles,[Headnote 3]
and full of a foolish ambition, after having received some lessons from
the sophists, who promised to render them very great politicians,
believed themselves capable of every thing, and aspired to fill the
highest places. One of them, named Glaucon, took it so strongly in his
head that he had a _peculiar genius_ for public affairs, although he was
not yet twenty years of age, that no person in his family, nor among his
friends, had the power to divert him from a notion so little befitting
his age and capacity.
2. Socrates, who liked him on account of Plato [Headnote 4] his brother,
was the only one who succeeded in making him change his resolution.
Meeting him one day, he accosted him with so dexterous a discourse, that
he induced him to listen. He had already gained much influence over him.
"You have a desire to govern the republic?" said Socrates. "True,"
replied Glaucon. "You can not have a finer design," said the
philosopher, "since, if you succeed in it, you will be in a state to
serve your friends, to enlarge your house, and to extend the limits of
your native country.
3. "You will become known not only in Athens, but through all Greece;
and it may be that your renown will reach even to the barbarous nations,
like that of Themistocles. At last, you will gain the respect and
admiration of everybody." A beginning so flattering pleased the young
man exceedingly, and he very willingly continued the conversation.
"Since you desire to make yourself esteemed and respected, it is clear
that you think to render yourself useful to the public." "Assuredly."
"Tell me, then, I beseech you, what is the first service that you intend
to render the state?"
4. As Glaucon appeared to be perplexed, and considered what he ought to
answer,--"Probably," replied Socrates, "it will be to enrich the
republic, that is to say, to increase its revenues." "Exactly so." "And,
undoubtedly, you know in what the revenues of the state consist, and the
extent to which they may be increased. You will not have failed to make
it a private study, to the end that if one source should suddenly fail,
you may be able to supply its place immediately with another." "I assure
you," answered Glaucon, "that this is what I have never thought of."
5. "Tell me, at least, then, the necessary expenses of maintaining the
republic. You can not fail to know of what importance it is to retrench
those which are superfluous." "I confess to you that I am not more
instructed with regard to this article than the other." "Then it is
necessary to defer till another time the design that you have of
enriching the republic; for it is impossible for you to benefit the
state while you are ignorant of its revenues and expenses."
6. "But," said Glaucon, "there is still another means that you pass over
in silence,--one can enrich a state by the ruin of its enemies." "You
are right." replied Socrates, "but, in order to do that, you must be the
more powerful; otherwise you run the risk of losing that which you
possess. So, he who speaks of undertaking a war, ought to know the power
of both parties, to the end that if he finds his party the stronger, he
may boldly risk the adventure; but, if he find it the weaker, he should
dissuade the people from undertaking it.
7. "But, do you know what are the forces of our republic, by sea and by
land, and what are those of our enemies'? have you a statement of them
in writing'? You will do me the pleasure to allow me a perusal of it."
"I have none yet," replied Glaucon. "I see, then," said Socrates, "that
we shall not make war so soon, if they intrust _you_ with the
government; for there remain many things for you to know, and many cares
to take."
8. The sage mentioned many other articles, not less important, in which
he found Glaucon equally inexperienced, and he pointed out how
ridiculous they render themselves, who have the rashness to intermeddle
with government, without bringing any other preparation to the task than
_a great degree of self-esteem and excessive ambition_. "Fear, my dear
Glaucon," said Socrates, "fear, lest a too ardent desire for honors
should blind you; and cause you to take a part that would cover you with
shame, in bringing to light your incapacity, and want of talent."
9. The youth was wise enough to profit by the good advice of his
instructor, and took some time to gain private information, before he
ventured to appear in public. This lesson is for all ages.
QUESTIONS.--1. To what did the young people of Athens aspire? 2. What
did Glaucon believe he possessed? 3. Who succeeded in making him change
his resolution? 4. How did Socrates do this? 5. What did Socrates
finally say to him?
* * * * *
LESSON LXXXVII.
CREST, topmost height.
TOR' RENTS, rushing streams.
TYPE, symbol; token.
AE' RIE, (_a' ry_,) eagle's nest.
VAULT' ED, arched.
LIQ' UID, (_lik' wid_,) clear; flowing.
BASK, lie exposed to warmth.
CAN' O PY, covering.
REV' EL RY, noisy merriment.
BIDE, stay; continue.
VO LUP' TU OUS, devoted to pleasure.
HAUNTS, places of resort.
EX PIRES', dies; becomes extinct.
SMOL' DER ING, burning and smoking without vent.
HER' IT AGE, inheritance.
QUENCH' ED, extinguished.
PEN' NON, flag; banner.
WRENCH, wrest; twist off.
CRA' VEN, base; cowardly.
SONG OF THE AMERICAN EAGLE.
1. I build my nest on the mountain's crest,
Where the wild winds rock my eaglets to rest,--
Where the lightnings flash, and the thunders crash,
And the roaring torrents foam and dash;
For my spirit free henceforth shall be
A type of the sons of Liberty.
2. Aloft I fly from my aerie high,
Through the vaulted dome of the azure sky;
On a sunbeam bright take my airy flight,
And float in a flood of liquid light;
For I love to play in the noontide ray,
And bask in a blaze from the throne of day.
3. Away I spring with a tireless wing,
On a feathery cloud I poise and swing;
I dart down the steep where the lightnings leap,
And the clear blue canopy swiftly sweep;
For, dear to me is the revelry
Of a free and fearless Liberty.
4. I love the land where the mountains stand,
Like the watch-towers high of a Patriot band;
For I may not bide in my glory and pride,
Though the land be never so fair and wide,
Where Luxury reigns o'er voluptuous plains,
And fetters the free-born soul in chains.
5. Then give to me in my flights to see
The land of the pilgrims _ever free_!
And I never will rove from the haunts I love
But watch, from my sentinel-track above,
Your banner free, o'er land and sea,
And exult in your glorious Liberty.
6. _O, guard ye well the land where I dwell_,
Lest to future times the tale I tell,
When slow expires in smoldering fires
The goodly heritage of your sires,--
How Freedom's light rose clear and bright
O'er fair Columbia's beacon-hight,
Till ye quenched the flame in a starless night.
7. Then will I tear from your pennon fair
The stars ye have set in triumph there;
My olive-branch on the blast I'll launch,
The fluttering stripes from the flagstaff wrench,
And away I'll flee; for I scorn to see
_A craven race_ in the land of the free!
QUESTIONS.--1. Where does the eagle build its nest? 2. Describe its
flights. 3. Where does it love to dwell? 4. Of what is the eagle a type?
5. What warning does it give to the people of this country? 6. What is
there peculiar in the construction of the first, third, and fifth lines
of each verse?
* * * * *
LESSON LXXXVIII.
AN' THEM, ode; song.
DAUNT' LESS, bold; fearless.
WAG' ED, carried on.
UN AW' ED, undismayed.
SCROLL, roll of paper; document.
COUNT' LESS, unnumbered.
ROY' AL, regal; noble.
U' NI VERSE, whole creation.
BAF' FLED, frustrated.
TY RAN' NIC, oppressive; despotic.
CURB, check; restrain.
SUC CEED' ING, following.
HURL' ED, thrown.
PEAL' ED, resounded.
[Headnote 1: HEL' LES PONT, now the Dardanelles, a narrow strait between
Asia and Europe.]
[Headnote 2: XER' XES, (_zerks' ees_,) the celebrated king of Persia,
during his famous expedition into Greece, caused a bridge of boats to be
built over the Hellespont; but the work having been destroyed by a
storm, he was greatly enraged against the sea, and ordered it to be
lashed, and fetters to be cast into it to restrain its violence.]
THE ARMY OF REFORM.
SARAH JANE LIPPINCOTT.
1. Yes, _ye are few_,--and _they were few_,
Who, daring storm and sea,
Once raised upon old Plymouth rock
"The anthem of the free."
2. _And they were few_ at Lexington,
To battle, or to die,--
That lightning-flash, that thunder-peal,
Told that the storm was nigh.
3. _And they were few_, who dauntless stood,
Upon old Bunkers hight,
And waged with Britain's strength and pride
The fierce, unequal fight.
4. _And they were few_, who, all unawed
By kingly "rights divine,"
The Declaration, rebel scroll,[Footnote 1]
Untrembling dared to sign.
5. _Yes, ye are few_; for one proud glance
Can take in all your band,
As now against a countless host,
Firm, true, and calm, ye stand.
6. Unmoved by Folly's idiot laugh,
Hate's curse, or Envy's frown,--
Wearing your rights as royal robes,
Your manhood as a crown,--
7. With eyes whose gaze, unvailed by mists,
Still rises, clearer, higher,--
With stainless hands, and lips that Truth
Hath touched with living fire,--
8. With one high hope, that ever shines
Before you as a star,--
One prayer of faith, one fount of strength,
_A glorious few ye are!_
9. Ye _dare_ not fear, ye _can not_ fail,
Your destiny ye bind
To that sublime, eternal law
That rules the march of mind.
10. See yon bold eagle toward the sun
Now rising free and strong,
And see yon mighty river roll
Its sounding tide along!
11. Ah! yet near earth the eagle tires,
Lost in the sea, the river;
_But naught can stay the human mind_,--
_'Tis upward, onward, ever!_
12. It yet shall tread the starlit paths,
By highest angels trod,
And pause but at the farthest world
In the universe of God.
13. 'Tis said that Persia's baffled king,
In mad, tyrannic pride,
Cast fetters on the Hellespont,[Headnote 1]
To curb its swelling tide:
14. But freedom's own true spirit heaves
The bosom of the main;
It tossed those fetters to the skies,
And bounded on again!
15. The scorn of each succeeding age
On Xerxes'[Headnote 2] head was hurled,
And o'er that foolish deed has pealed
The long laugh of a world.
16. Thus, thus, defeat, and scorn, and shame,
Is _his_, who strives to bind
_The restless, leaping waves of thought,_
_The free tide of the mind._
[Footnote 1: The reference is to the Declaration of Independence, made
July 4th, 1776.]
QUESTIONS.--1. Who raised the anthem of the free on Plymouth Rock?
2. What is said of the few on Bunker's Hight? 3. How many signed the
Declaration of Independence? Ans. 56. 4. What is said of the eagle?
5. Of the human mind? 6. Of Freedom? 7. Where is the Hellespont?
* * * * *
LESSON LXXXIX.
FRESH' EN ED, grew brisk or strong.
FIT FUL LY, at intervals.
IN DI CA' TION, sign; token.
EN THU' SI ASM, strong feeling.
AP PRE HEND' ING, fearing.
A BAN' DON, give up; forsake.
HAW' SERS, cables; large ropes.
VOL UN TEER' ED, offered willingly.
IN' TER VAL, intervening time.
DE VOT' ED, doomed; ill-fated.
THWARTS, seats placed across a boat.
GUAR' AN TY, warrant.
IN EV' I TA BLY, certainly; surely.
AC CU' MU LA TED, collected; heaped.
STAN' CHION, (_stan' shun_,) small post.
VI' ED, strove; contended.
DIS' LO CA TED, out of joint; disjointed.
AM' PU TA TED, cut off.
THE LAST CRUISE OF THE MONITOR.
GREENVILLE M. WEEKS.
1. On the afternoon of December 29th, 1862, she put on steam, and, in
tow of the "Rhode Island," passed Fortress Monroe, and out to sea. As we
gradually passed out, the wind freshened somewhat; but the sun went down
in glorious clouds of purple and crimson, and the night was fair and
calm above us, though, in the interior of our little vessel, the air had
already begun to lose its freshness. We suffered more or less from its
closeness through the night, and woke in the morning to find it heavy
with impurity, from the breaths of some sixty persons, composing the
officers and crew.
2. Sunshine found us on deck, enjoying pure air, and watching the east.
During the night we had passed Cape Henry, and now, at dawn, found
ourselves on the ocean,--the land only a blue line in the distance. A
few more hours, and that had vanished. No sails were visible; and the
Passaic, which we had noticed the evening before, was now out of sight.
The morning and afternoon passed quietly; we spent most of our time on
deck, on account of the confined air below, and, being on a level with
the sea, with the spray dashing over us occasionally, amused ourselves
with noting its shifting hues and forms, from the deep green of the
first long roll, to the foam-crest and prismatic tints of the falling
wave.
3. As the afternoon advanced, the freshening wind, the thickening
clouds, and the increasing roll of the sea, gave those most accustomed
to ordinary ship-life, some new experiences. The little vessel plunged
through the rising waves, instead of riding them, and, as they increased
in violence, lay, as it were, under their crests, which washed over her
continually; so that, even when we considered ourselves safe, the
appearance was that of a vessel sinking.
4. "I'd rather go to sea in a diving-bell!" said one, as the waves
dashed over the pilot-house, and the little craft seemed buried in
water. "Give me an oyster-scow!" cried another,--"any thing! only let it
be _wood_, and something that will float _over_, instead of _under_ the
water!" Still she plunged on; and about 6:30 P.M., we made Cape
Hatteras; in half an hour we had rounded the point. A general hurrah
went up,--"Hurrah for the first iron-clad that ever rounded Cape
Hatteras! Hurrah for the little boat that is first in every thing!"
5. At half-past seven, a heavy shower fell, lasting about twenty
minutes. At this time the gale increased; black, heavy clouds covered
the sky, through which the moon glittered fitfully, allowing us to see
in the distance a long line of white, plunging foam rushing toward
us,--sure indication, to a sailor's eye, of a stormy time. A gloom
overhung every thing; the banks of cloud seemed to settle around us; the
moan of the ocean grew louder and more fearful. Still our little boat
pushed doggedly on: victorious through all, we thought that here, too,
she would conquer, though the beating waves sent shudders through her
whole frame.
6. An hour passed; the air below, which had all day been increasing in
closeness, was now almost stifling; but our men lost no courage. Some
sang as they worked; and the cadence of their voices, mingling with the
roar of waters, sounded like a defiance to Ocean. Some stationed
themselves on top of the turret, and a general enthusiasm filled all
breasts, as huge waves, twenty feet high, rose up on all sides, hung
suspended for a moment like jaws open to devour, and then, breaking,
gnashed over in foam from side to side.
7. Those of us new to the sea, and not apprehending our peril, hurrahed
for the largest wave; but the captain and one or two others, old
sailors, knowing its power, grew momentarily more and more--anxious,
feeling, with a dread instinctive to the sailor, that, in case of
extremity, no wreck yet known to ocean, could be so hopeless as this.
Solid iron from keelson to turret-top, clinging to any thing for safety,
if the "Monitor" should go down, would only insure a share in her fate.
No mast., no spar, no floating thing, to meet the outstretched hand in
the last moment.
8. The sea gathered force from each attack. Thick and fast came the
blows on the iron mail of the "Monitor," and still the brave little
vessel held her own, until, at half-past eight, the engineer, faithful
to the end, reported a leak. The pumps were instantly set in motion, and
we watched their progress with an intense interest. She had seemed to
us like an old-time knight, in armor, battling against fearful odds, but
still holding his ground. We who watched, when the blow came which made
the strong man reel and the life-blood spout, felt our hearts faint
within us; then, again, ground was gained, and the fight went on, the
water lowering somewhat under the laboring pumps.
9. From nine to ten it kept pace with them. From ten to eleven the sea
increased in violence, the waves now dashing entirely over the turret,
blinding the eyes, and causing quick catchings of the breath, as they
swept against us. At ten the engineer had reported the leak as gaining
on us; at half-past ten, with several pumps in constant motion, one of
which threw out three thousand gallons a minute, the water was rising
rapidly, and nearing the fires. When these were reached, the vessel's
doom was sealed; for, with their extinction, the pumps must cease, and
all hope of keeping the "Monitor" above water more than an hour or two,
expired.
10. Our knight had received his death-blow, and lay struggling and
helpless under the power of a stronger than he. A consultation was
held, and, not without a conflict of fueling, it was decided that
signals of distress should be made. Ocean claimed our little vessel, and
her trembling frame and failing fire proved she would soon answer his
call; yet a pang went through us, as we thought of the first iron-clad
lying alone at the bottom of this stormy sea, her guns silenced, herself
a useless mass of metal. Each quiver of her strong frame seemed to plead
with us not to abandon her.
11. The work she _had_ done, the work she _was_ to do, rose before us:
might there not be a possibility of saving her yet? Her time could not
have come so soon. But we who descended for a moment to the cabin, knew,
by the rising-water through which we waded, that the end was near. Small
time was there for regrets. Rockets were thrown up, and answered by the
"Rhode Island," whose brave men prepared at once to lower boats, though,
in that wild sea, it was almost madness.
12. The "Monitor" had been attached to the "Rhode Island" by two
hawsers, one of which had parted at about seven P.M. The other remained
firm; but now it was necessary it should be cut. How was that possible,
when every wave washed clean over the deck? What man could reach it
alive? "Who'll cut the hawser?" shouted Captain Bankhead. Acting master
Stodder volunteered, and was followed by another. Holding by one hand to
the ropes at her side, they cut through, by many blows of the hatchet,
the immense rope which united the vessels. Stodder returned in safety,
but his brave companion was washed over, and went down.
13. Meanwhile the boat launched from the "Rhode Island," had started,
manned by a crew of picked men. A mere heroic impulse could not have
accomplished this most noble deed. For hours they had watched the raging
sea. Their captain and _they_ knew the danger; every man who entered
that boat, did it at the peril of his life; and yet all were ready. Are
not such acts as these convincing proofs of the divinity of human
nature'? We watched her with straining eyes; for few thought she could
live to reach us. She neared; we were sure of her, thank Heaven!
14. In this interval, the cut hawser had become entangled in the
paddle-wheel of the "Rhode Island," and she drifted down upon us; we,
not knowing this fact, supposed her coming to our assistance; but a
moment undeceived us. The launch sent to our relief was now between us
and her,--too near for safety. The steamer bore swiftly down, stern
first, upon our starboard quarter. "_Keep off! keep off!_" we cried, and
then first saw she was helpless.
15. Even as we looked, the devoted boat was caught between the steamer
and the iron-clad,--a sharp sound of crushing wood was heard,--thwarts,
oars, and splinters flew in air,--the boat's crew leaped to the
"Monitor's" deck, Death stared us in the face; our iron prow must go
through the Rhode Island's side,--and then an end to all. One awful
moment we held our breath,--then the hawser was cleared,--the steamer
moved off, as it were, step by step, first one, then another, till a
ship's length lay between us, and then we breathed freely.
16. But the boat!--had she gone to the bottom, carrying brave souls with
her? No; there she lay, beating against our iron sides; but still,
though bruised and broken, a lifeboat to us. There was no hasty scramble
for life when it was found she floated,--all held back. The men kept
steady on at their work of bailing,--only those leaving, and in the
order named, whom the captain bade save themselves. They descended from
the turret to the deck with mingled fear and hope, for the waves tore
from side to side, and the coolest head and bravest heart could not
guaranty safety. Some were washed over as they left the turret, and,
with a vain clutch at the iron deck, a wild throwing up of the arms,
went down, their death-cry ringing in the ears of their companions.
17. The boat sometimes held her place by the "Monitor's" side, then was
dashed hopelessly out of reach, rising and falling on the waves. A
sailor would spring from the deck to reach her, to be seen for a moment
in mid-air, and then, as she rose, fall into her. So she gradually
filled up; but some poor souls who sought to reach her, failed, even as
they touched her receding sides, and went down. We had a little
messenger-boy, the special charge of one of our sailors, and the pet of
all; he must inevitably have been lost, but for the care of his adopted
father, who, holding him firmly in his arms, escaped, as by a miracle,
being washed overboard, but finally succeeded in placing him safely in
the boat.
18. The last but one to make the desperate venture, was the surgeon; he
leaped from the deck, at the very instant when the boat was being swept
away by the merciless sea. Making one final effort, he threw his body
forward as he fell, striking across the boat's side so violently, it was
thought some of his ribs must be broken. "_Haul the Doctor in!_" shouted
Lieutenant Greene, perhaps remembering how, a little time back, he
himself, almost gone down in the unknown sea, had been "hauled in" by a
quinine rope flung him by the Doctor. Stout sailor-arms pulled him in;
one more sprang to a place in her, and the boat, now full, pushed
off,--in a sinking condition, it is true, but still bearing hope with
her, for _she was wood_.
19. Over the waves we made little progress, though pulling for life. The
men stuffed their pea-jackets into the leaks, and bailed incessantly. We
neared the "Rhode Island;" but now a new peril appeared. Eight down upon
our center, borne by the might of the rushing water, came the whale-boat
sent to rescue others from the iron-clad. We barely floated; if she
struck us with her bows full on us, we must go to the bottom. One
sprang, and, as she neared, with outstretched arms, met and turned her
course. She passed against us, and his hand, caught between the two
boats, was crushed, and the arm, wrenched from its socket, fell a
helpless weight against his side; but life remained. We were saved, and
an arm was a small price to pay for life.
20. We reached the "Rhode Island;" ropes were flung over her side, and
caught with a death-grip. Some lost their hold, were washed away, and
again dragged in by the boat's crew. What chance had one whose right arm
hung a dead weight, when strong men with their two hands, went down
before him? He caught at a rope, found it impossible to save himself
alone, and then for the first time said,--"I am injured; can any one
help me?" Ensign Taylor, at the risk of his own life, brought the rope
around his shoulder in such a way that it could not slip, and he was
drawn up in safety.
21. In the mean time, the whale-boat, which had nearly caused our
destruction, had reached the side of the "Monitor;" and now the captain
said, "It is madness to remain here longer: let each man save himself."
For a moment, he descended to the cabin for a coat, and his faithful
servant followed to secure a jewel-box, containing the accumulated
treasure of years. A sad, sorry sight it was! In the heavy air the lamps
burned dimly, and the water, waist-deep, splashed sullenly against the
sides of the wardroom. One lingering look, and he left the "Monitor's"
cabin forever!
22. Time was precious; he hastened to the deck, where, in the midst of a
terrible sea, Lieutenant Greene nobly held his post. He seized the rope
from the whale-boat, wound it about an iron stanchion, then around his
wrists, and, by this means, was drawn aboard the boat. Thus, one by one,
watching their time between the waves, the men filled in, and, at last,
after making all effort for others, and none for themselves, Captain
Bankhead and Lieutenant Greene took their places in the boat The gallant
Brown pushed off, and soon laid his boat-load safe upon the "Rhode
Island's" deck.
23. Here the heartiest and most tender reception met us. Our drenched
clothing was replaced by warm and dry garments, and all on board vied
with each other in acts of kindness. The only one who had received any
injury, Surgeon Weeks, [Footnote: The writer of this account.] was
carefully attended to, the dislocated arm set, and the crushed fingers
amputated, by the gentlest and most considerate of surgeons, Dr. Webber,
of the "Rhode Island."
24. For an hour or more we watched, from the deck of the steamer, the
lonely light upon the "Monitor's" turrets; a hundred times we thought it
gone forever,--a hundred times it reappeared, till, at last, about two
o'clock, Wednesday morning, December 31st, it sank, and we saw it no
more. An actor in the scenes of that wild night, when the "Monitor" went
down, relates the story of her last cruise. _Her_ work is now over. She
lies a hundred fathoms deep under the stormy-waters off Cape Hatteras;
but she has made herself a name, which will not soon be forgotten by the
American people.
QUESTIONS.--1. When and where was the Monitor lost? 2. What signal
service had she rendered? 3. Who was the writer of this account?
* * * * *
LESSON XC.
RE SPON SI BIL' I TIES, obligations.
LA' TENT, secret; hidden.
IN IQ' UI TY, wickedness.
EF FECT' IVE, powerful; efficient.
REC' TI TUDE, right.
PEN' E TRA TIVE, entering; piercing.
MAL' ICE, ill-will; hatred.
CHIV' AL RY, heroism; valor.
WAN' TON LY, wastefully.
SHEEN, brightness.
SHIM' MER, glitter; gleam.
RE VER' SION, future possession.
IN SID' I OUS, crafty; deceitful.
A THWART', across.
SUS' TE NANCE, food; support.
IM POS' ED, laid on; assigned.
DUTIES AND RESPONSIBILITIES OF WOMAN.
GAIL HAMILTON.
1. Oh, if this latent power could be aroused! If woman would shake off
this slumber, and put on her strength, her beautiful garments, how would
she go forth conquering and to conquer! How would the mountains break
forth into singing, and the trees of the field clap their hands! How
would our sin-stained earth arise and shine, her light being come, and
the glory of the Lord being risen upon her!
2. One can not do the _world's_ work; but one can do _one's_ work. You
may not be able to turn the world from iniquity; but you can, at least,
keep the dust and rust from gathering on your own soul. If you can not
be directly and actively engaged in fighting the battle, you can, at
least, polish your armor and sharpen your weapons, to strike an
effective blow when the hour comes. You can stanch the blood of him who
has been wounded in the fray,--bear a cup of cold water to the thirsty
and fainting,--give help to the conquered, and smiles to the victor.
3. You can gather from the past and the present stores of wisdom, so
that, when the future demands it, you may bring forth from your
treasures things new and old. Whatever of bliss the "Divinity that
shapes our ends" may see fit to withhold from you, you are but very
little lower than the angels, so long as you have the
"Godlike power to do,--the godlike aim to know."
4. You can be forming habits of self-reliance, sound judgment,
perseverance, and endurance, which may, one day, stand you in good
stead. You can so train yourself to right thinking and right acting,
that uprightness shall be your nature, truth your impulse. His head is
seldom far wrong, whose heart is always right. We bow down to mental
greatness, intellectual strength, and they are divine gifts; but _moral
rectitude_ is stronger than they. It is irresistible,--always in the
end triumphant.
5. There is in _goodness_ a penetrative power that nothing can
withstand. Cunning and malice melt away before its mild, open, steady
glance. Not alone on the fields where chivalry charges for laurels, with
helmet and breastplate and lance in rest, can the true knight exultingly
exclaim,
"My strength is as the strength of ten,
Because my heart is pure;"
but wherever man meets man, wherever there is a prize to be won, a goal
to be reached. Wealth, and rank, and beauty, may form a brilliant
setting to the diamond; but they only expose more nakedly the false
glare of the paste. Only when the king's daughter is all glorious
within, is it fitting and proper that her clothing should be of wrought
gold.
6. From the great and good of all ages rings out the same monotone. The
high-priest of Nature, the calm-eyed poet who laid his heart so close to
hers, that they seemed to throb in one pulsation, yet whose ear was
always open to the "still sad music of humanity," has given us the
promise of his life-long wisdom in these grand words:--
"True dignity abides with him alone
Who, in the silent hour of inward thought,
Can still suspect and still revere himself."
7. Through the din of twenty rolling centuries, pierces the sharp, stern
voice of the brave old Greek: "_Let every man, when he is about to do a
wicked action, above all things in the world, stand in awe of himself,
and dread the witness within him._" All greatness, and all glory, all
that earth has to give, all that Heaven can proffer, lies within the
reach of the lowliest as well as the highest; for He who spake as never
man spake, has said that the very "kingdom of God is within you."
8. Born to such an inheritance, will you wantonly cast it away? With
such a goal in prospect, will you suffer yourself to be turned aside by
the sheen and shimmer of tinsel fruit? With earth in possession, and
Heaven in reversion, will you go sorrowing and downcast, because here
and there a pearl or ruby fails you? Nay, rather forgetting those things
which are behind, and reaching forth unto those which are before, _press
forward_!
9. Discontent and murmuring are insidious foes; trample them under your
feet. Utter no complaint, whatever betide; for complaining is a sign of
weakness. If your trouble can be helped, _help it_; if not, _bear it_.
You can be whatever you _will_ to be. Therefore, form and accomplish
worthy purposes.
10. If you walk alone, let it be with no faltering tread. Show to an
incredulous world
"How grand may be Life's might,
Without Love's circling crown."
Or, if the golden thread of love shine athwart the dusky warp of duty,
if other hearts depend on yours for sustenance and strength, give to
them from your fullness no stinted measure. Let the dew of your kindness
fall on the evil and the good, on the just and on the unjust.
11. Compass happiness, since happiness alone is victory. On the
fragments of your shattered plans, and hopes, and love,--on the
heaped-up ruins of your past, rear a stately palace, whose top shall
reach unto heaven, whose beauty shall gladden the eyes of all beholders,
whose doors shall stand wide open to receive the way-worn and weary.
Life is a burden, but it is imposed by God. What you _make_ of it, it
will _be_ to you, whether a millstone about your neck, or a diadem upon
your brow. _Take it up bravely, bear it on joyfully, lay it down
triumphantly._
QUESTIONS.--1. What are some of the duties of women? 2. What is said of
goodness? 3. What was the adage of the old Greek? 4. What is said of
discontent and murmuring?
* * * * *
LESSON XCI.
ID' I OT, one devoid of reason.
HOR' RI BLE, awful; dreadful.
WOE' FUL, afflicted.
HAR' ROW, disturb; harass.
PRE SERVE', safely keep.
SOOTH, fact; truth.
SPOIL' ED, stripped; plundered.
YEARN' ING, longing.
IN SUF' FER A BLE, intolerable.
CAN' TON, district; region.
PAS TIME, amusement; diversion.
ES PI' ED, saw; discovered.
MOUNT AIN EER', dweller on a mountain.
BRAWN' Y, strong; firm.
FAG OTS, bundles of sticks.
AUG MENT', increase; make larger.
BEA' CON, signal-fire.
BE TIDE', happen; befall.
SCENE FROM WILLIAM TELL.
J. SHERIDAN KNOWLES.
_Emma._ I never knew a weary night before!
I have seen the sun a dozen times go down,
And still no William,--and the storm was on,
Yet have I laid me down in peace to sleep,
The mountain with the lightning all a-blaze,
And shaking with the thunder,--but to-night
Mine eyes refuse to close, (_sl._) The old man rests:
Pain hath outworn itself, and turned to ease.
How deadly calm's the night! (_''_) What's that? I'm grown
An idiot with my fears. I do not know,--
The avalanche! Great Power that hurls it down,
Watch o'er my boy, and guide his little steps!
What keeps him? 'tis but four hours' journey hence:
He'd rest; then four hours back again. _What keeps him?_
Erni would sure be found by him,--he knows
The track, well as he knows the road to Altorf!
_Melchtal_. Help! (_in his sleep_.)
_Emma_. What's the matter? Only the old man dreaming.
He thinks again they're pulling out his eyes.
I'm sick with terror! Merciful powers! what's this
That fills my heart with horrible alarm?
And yet it can not see.
_Melch_. (_waking_) Where am I?
_Emma_. Father!
_Melch_. My daughter, is it thou'! Thank Heaven, I'm here!
Is't day yet'?
_Emma_. No'.
_Melch_. Is't far on the night'?
_Emma_. Methinks, about the turn on't.
_Melch_. Is the boy
Come back'?
_Emma_. No', father'.
_Melch_. Nor thy husband'?
_Emma_. No'.
_Melch_. A woeful wife and mother have I made thee!
Would thou hadst never seen me.
_Emma_. Father'!
_Melch_. Child'!
_Emma_. Methinks I hear a step !--I do! (_knocking_.) A knock!
_Melch_. 'Tis William!
_Emma_. No; it is not William's knock. (_Opens the door_.) I
told you so. Your will?
_Enter_ STRANGER.
_Stran_. Seeing a light, I e'en made bold to knock, to ask for
shelter; For I have missed my way.
_Emma_. Whence come you` friend'?
_Stran_. From Altorf.
_Emma_. Altorf'! Any news from thence'?
_Stran_. Ay`! News to harrow parents' hearts, and make The
barren bless themselves that they are childless!
_Emma_. May Heaven preserve my boy!
_Melch_. What say'st thy news?
_Stran_. Art thou not Melchtal--he whose eyes, 'tis said,
The tyrant has torn out'?
_Melch_. Yes`, friend', the same.
_Stran_. Is this thy cottage'?
_Melch_. No`; 'tis William Tell's.
_Stran_. 'Tis William Tell's--and that's his wife--Goodnight.
_Emma_. (_Rushing between him and the door_.) Thou stirr'st
not hence until thy news be told!
_Stran_. My news! In sooth 'tis nothing thou would'st heed.
_Emma_. 'Tis something none should heed so well as I!
_Stran_. I must be gone,
_Emma_. Thou seest a tigress, friend,
Spoiled of her mate and young, and yearning for them.
Don't thwart her! Come, thy news! What fear'st thou, man?
What more hath she to dread, who reads thy looks,
And knows the most has come? Thy news! Is't bondage'?
_Stran_. It is.
_Emma_. Thank Heaven, it is not death! Of one--Or two?
_Stran_. Of two.
_Emma_. A father and a son,
Is't not?
_Stran_. It is.
_Emma_. My husband and my son
Are in the tyrant's power! There's worse than that!
What's that is news to harrow parents' breasts.
The which the thought to only tell, 'twould seem,
Drives back the blood to thine?--Thy news, I say!
Wouldst thou be merciful, this is not mercy!
Wast thou the mark, friend, of the bowman's aim.
Wouldst thou not hare the fatal arrow speed,
Rather than watch it hanging in the string?
Thou'lt drive me mad! Let fly at once!
_Melch_. Thy news from Altorf, friend, whatever it is!
_Stran_. To save himself and child from certain death,
Tell is to hit an apple, to be placed
Upon the stripling's head.
_Melch_. My child! my child!
Speak to me! Stranger, hast thou killed her?
_Emma_. No!
No`, father'. I'm the wife of William Tell;
Oh, but to be a man!--to have an arm
To fit a heart swelling with the sense of wrong!
Unnatural--insufferable wrong!
When makes the tyrant trial of his skill?
_Stran_. To-morrow.
_Emma_. Spirit of the lake and hill,
Inspire thy daughter! On the head of him
Who makes his pastime of a mother's pangs,
Launch down thy vengeance by a mother's hand.
Know'st the signal when the hills shall rise'? (_To Melchtal._)
_Melch_. Are they to rise'?
_Emma_. I see thou knowest naught.
_Stran_. Something's on foot! 'Twas only yesterday,
That, traveling from our canton, I espied
Slow toiling up a steep, a mountaineer
Of brawny limb, upon his back a load
Of fagots bound. Curious to see what end
Was worthy of such labor, after him
I took the cliff; and saw its lofty top
Receive his load, which went but to augment
A pile of many another.
_Emma_. 'Tis by fire! Fire is the signal for the hills to
rise! (_Rushes out_.)
_Melch_. Went she not forth!
_Stran_. She did,--she's here again,
And brings with her a lighted brand.
_Melch_. My child,
What dost thou with a lighted brand?
(_Re-enter_ EMMA _with a brand_.)
_Emma_. Prepare
To give the signal for the hills to rise!
_Melch_. Where are the fagots, child, for such a blaze?
_Emma_. I'll find the fagots, father. (_Exit_.)
_Melch_. She's gone Again!
_Stran_. She is,--I think into her chamber.
_Emma_. (_Rushing in_.)--Father, the pile is fired!
_Melch_. What pile, my child!
_Emma_. The joists and rafters of our cottage, father!
_Melch_. Thou hast not fired thy cottage?--but thou hast;
Alas, I hear the crackling of the flames!
_Emma_. Say'st thou, alas! when I do say, thank Heaven.
Father, this blaze will set the land a-blaze
With fire that shall preserve, and not destroy it.
(_f_.) _Blaze on!_ BLAZE ON! Oh, may'st thou be a beacon
To light its sons enslaved to liberty!
How fast it spreads! A spirit's in the fire:
It knows the work it does.--(_Goes to the door, and opens it_.)
The land is free!
Yonder's another blaze! Beyond that, shoots
Another up!--Anon will every hill
Redden with vengeance! Father, come! Whate'er
Betides us, worse we're certain can't befall,
And better may! Oh, be it liberty,
Safe hearts and homes, husbands and children! Come,--
It spreads apace. (_ff_.) Blaze on--_blaze on_--BLAZE ON!
QUESTIONS.--1. What rule for the rising inflection on _father_? See Note
I., page 32. 2. What rule for the falling inflection on _no_? See Rule
I., page 28.
* * * * *
LESSON XCII.
HON' OR A BLE, noble; illustrious.
IN' TEL LECT, mind; understanding.
SCORE, account; motive.
CLEV' ER, skillful; expert.
SO' CIAL, familiar.
CON FU' SION, fuss; tumult.
CON DE SCEN' SION, loveliness; deference.
COM PRE HEN' SION, understanding.
[Headnote 1: CROE SUS, a very wealthy king of ancient Lydia, in Asia
Minor, was born about 591 before Christ.]
THE RICH MAN AND THE POOR MAN.
KHEMNITZER.
1. So goes the world`;--if wealthy, you may call
_This_--friend, _that_--brother`;--friends and brothers all
Though you are worthless, witless,--never mind it;
You may have been a stable-boy,--what then?
'Tis _wealth_, my friends, makes _honorable_ men.
You seek respect, no doubt, and you will find it.
2. But, if you are poor', heaven help you`! though your sire
Had royal blood in him`, and though you
Possess the intellect of angels too.
'Tis all in vain`;--the world will ne'er inquire
On such a score`:--why should it take the pains?
'Tis easier to weigh purses`, sure, than brains'.
3. I once saw a poor fellow, keen and clever.
Witty and wise`; he paid a man a visit,
And no one noticed him', and no one ever
Gave him a welcome`. "Strange`," cried I', "whence is it`?"
He walked on this side', then on that`,
He tried to introduce a social chat`;
Now here', now there`, in vain he tried`;
Some formally and freezingly replied,
And some said by their silence,--"Better stay at home."
4. A rich man burst the door,
As Croesus [Headnote 1] rich;--I'm sure
He could not pride himself upon his wit`;
And, as for wisdom, he had none of it`;
He had what's better`,--he had wealth.
What a confusion!--all stand up erect,--
These crowd around to ask him of his health;
These bow in _honest_ duty and respect;
And these arrange a sofa or a chair,
And these conduct him there.
"Allow me, sir, the honor`;"--Then a bow
Down to the earth`.--_Is't_ possible to show
Meet gratitude for such kind condescension`!
5. The poor man hung his head,
And to himself he said,
"This is indeed beyond my comprehension:"
Then looking round, one friendly face he found,
And said,--"Pray tell me why is wealth preferred
"To wisdom?"--"That's a silly question, friend!"
Replied the other,--"have you never heard.
A man may lend his store
Of gold or silver ore,
But wisdom none can borrow, none can lend?"
QUESTIONS.--1. How do you account for the different inflections in the
last line of the second verse? See page 31, Note I. 2. What rule for the
falling inflection on _condescension_? See page 29, Note I.
* * * * *
LESSON XCIII.
EX HI BI' TIONS, displays.
CIR CUM SCRIB' ED, encompassed.
NA' VIES, ships of war.
ARM' A MENTS, forces equipped for war.
IM PED' ED, hindered, obstructed.
LE VI' A THAN, huge sea-monster.
MAG NIF' I CENCE, grandeur.
UN A BAT' ED, undiminished.
RE SERV' ED, kept.
EN TRANC' ED, enraptured.
PROM' ON TO RY, headland.
RE VEAL'ED, laid open.
SYM' BOL, token; sign.
AD A MAN TINE, exceedingly hard.
AP PER TAIN' ING, belonging.
TRANS FORM' ING, changing.
[Headnote 1: AC' TI UM is the ancient name of a promontory of Albania,
in Turkey in Europe, near which was fought (B.C. 29) the celebrated
naval battle that made Augustus Caesar master of the Roman world.]
[Headnote 2: SAL' A MIS, an island opposite Attica, in Greece, near
which (B.C. 480) occurred the famous naval engagement which resulted in
the defeat of the Persians.]
[Headnote 3: NAV A RI' NO is a seaport town on the southwestern coast of
Greece. It was the scene of the memorable victory of the combined
English, French, and Russian fleets over those of the Turks and
Egyptians, gained on the 20th of October, 1827.]
[Headnote 4: TRA FAL GAR', a cape on the southwestern coast of Spain.
It is famous for the great naval battle, fought in its vicinity,
Oct. 21st, 1805, between the fleets of the French and Spanish on the
one side, and the English, under Lord Nelson, on the other. The English
were victorious, though Nelson was mortally wounded.]
GRANDEUR OF THE OCEAN.
WALTER COLTON.
1. The most fearful and impressive exhibitions of power known to our
globe, belong to the ocean. The volcano, with its ascending flame and
falling torrents of fire, and the earthquake, whose footstep is on the
ruin of cities, are circumscribed in the desolating range of their
visitations. But the ocean, when it once rouses itself in its chainless
strength, shakes a thousand shores with its storm and thunder. Navies of
oak and iron are tossed in mockery from its crest, and armaments, manned
by the strength and courage of millions, perish among its bubbles.
2. The avalanche, shaken from its glittering steep, if it rolls to the
bosom of the earth, melts away, and is lost in vapor; but if it plunge
into the embrace of the ocean, this mountain mass of ice and hail is
borne about for ages in tumult and terror; it is the drifting monument
of the ocean's dead. The tempest on land is impeded by forests, and
broken by mountains; but on the plain of the deep it rushes unresisted;
and when its strength is at last spent, ten thousand giant waves still
roll its terrors onward.
3. The mountain lake and the meadow stream are inhabited only by the
timid prey of the angler; but the ocean is the home of the
leviathan,--his ways are in the mighty deep. The glittering pebble and
the rainbow-tinted shell, which the returning tide has left on the
shore, and the watery gem which the pearl-diver reaches at the peril of
his life, are all that man can filch from the treasures of the sea. The
groves of coral which wave over its pavements, and the halls of amber
which glow in its depths, are beyond his approaches, save when he goes
down there to seek, amid their silent magnificence, his burial monument.
4. The islands, the continents, the shores of civilized and savage
realms, the capitals of kings, are worn by time, washed away by the
wave, consumed by the flame, or sunk by the earthquake; but the ocean
still remains, and still rolls on in the greatness of its unabated
strength. Over the majesty of its form and the marvel of its might, time
and disaster have no power. Such as creation's dawn beheld, it rolleth
now.
5. The vast clouds of vapor which roll up from its bosom, float away to
encircle the globe: on distant mountains and deserts they pour out their
watery treasures, which gather themselves again in streams and torrents,
to return, with exulting bounds, to their parent ocean. These are the
messengers which proclaim in every land the exhaustless resources of the
sea; but it is reserved for those who go down in ships, and who do
business in the great waters, to see the works of the Lord and His
wonders in the deep.
6. Let one go upon deck in the middle watch of a still night, with
naught above him but the silent and solemn skies, and naught around and
beneath him but an interminable waste of waters, and with the conviction
that there is but a plank between him and eternity, a feeling of
loneliness, solitude, and desertion, mingled with a sentiment of
reverence for the vast, mysterious and unknown, will come upon him with
a power, all unknown before, and he might stand for hours entranced in
reverence and tears.
7. Man, also, has made the ocean the theater of _his_ power. The ship in
which he rides that element, is one of the highest triumphs of his
skill. At first, this floating fabric was only a frail bark, slowly
urged by the laboring oar. The sail, at length, arose and spread its
wings to the wind. Still he had no power to direct his course when the
lofty promontory sunk from sight, or the orbs above him were lost in
clouds. But the secret of the magnet is, at length, revealed to him, and
his needle now settles, with a fixedness which love has stolen as the
symbol of its constancy, to the polar star.
8. Now, however, he can dispense even with sail, and wind, and flowing
wave. He constructs and propels his vast engines of flame and vapor,
and, through the solitude of the sea, as over the solid land, goes
thundering on his track. On the ocean, too, thrones have been lost and
won. On the fate of Actium [Headnote 1] was suspended the empire of the
world. In the gulf of Salamis,[Headnote 2] the pride of Persia found a
grave; and the crescent set forever in the waters of Navarino;[Headnote
3] while, at Trafalgar [Headnote 4] and the Nile, nations held their
breath,
As each gun,
From its adamantine lips,
Spread a death-shade round the ships
Like the hurricane's eclipse
Of the sun.
9. But, of all the wonders appertaining to the ocean, the greatest,
perhaps, is its transforming power on man. It unravels and weaves anew
the web of his moral and social being. It invests him with feelings,
associations, and habits, to which he has been an entire stranger. It
breaks up the sealed fountain of his nature, and lifts his soul into
features prominent as the cliffs which beetle over its surge.
10. Once the adopted child of the ocean, he can never bring back his
entire sympathies to land. He will still move in his dreams over that
vast waste of waters, still bound in exultation and triumph through its
foaming billows. All the other realities of life will be comparatively
tame, and he will sigh for his tossing element, as the caged eagle for
the roar and arrowy light of his mountain cataract.
QUESTIONS.--1. What is said of the volcano and earthquake? 2. Of the
avalanche and tempest? 3. Of the ocean? 4. Of ships? 5. Where have
naval battles been fought? 6. What influence has the ocean on man?
* * * * *
LESSON XCIV.
RE LAX' ED, loosened.
AS SI DU' I TIES, kind, constant attentions.
CON SIGN' ED, committed; given over.
EX TE' RI OR, outer appearance.
UN AF FECT' ED, sincere.
UN PRE TEND' ING, unostentatious.
HA BIL' I MENTS, vestments.
SU PER STI' TIOUS, full of scruples.
REC' ON CILE, make willing.
PEN' E TRATES, sees through.
PER VADE', (PER, _through_; VADE, _go_, or _pass_;) pass
through; appear throughout.
A BURIAL AT SEA.
WALTER COLTON.
1. Death is a fearful thing, come in what form it may,--fearful, when
the vital chords are so gradually relaxed, that life passes away sweetly
as music from the slumbering harp-string,--fearful, when in his own
quiet chamber, the departing one is summoned by those who sweetly follow
him with their prayers, when the assiduities of friendship and affection
can go no farther, and who discourse of heaven and future blessedness,
till the closing ear can no longer catch the tones of the long-familiar
voice, and who, lingering near, still feel for the hushed pulse, and
then trace in the placid slumber, which pervades each feature, a quiet
emblem of the spirit's serene repose.
2. What, then, must this dread event be to one, who meets it
comparatively alone, far away from the hearth of his home, upon a
troubled sea, between the narrow decks of a restless ship, and at that
dread hour of night, when even the sympathies of the world seem
suspended! Such has been the end of many who traverse the ocean; and
such was the hurried end of him, whose remains we have just consigned to
a watery grave.
3. He was a sailor; but, beneath his rude exterior, he carried a heart
touched with refinement, pride, and greatness. There was something about
him, which spoke of better days and a higher destiny. By what errors or
misfortunes he was reduced to his humble condition, was a secret which
he would reveal to none. Silent, reserved, and thoughtful, he stood a
stranger among his free companions, and never was his voice heard in the
laughter or the jest. He has undoubtedly left behind many who will long
look for his return, and bitterly weep when they are told they shall see
his face no more.
4. As the remains of the poor sailor were brought up on deck, wound in
that hammock which, through many a stormy night, had swung to the wind,
one could not but observe the big tear that stole unconsciously down the
rough cheeks of his hardy companions. When the funeral service was read
to that most affecting passage, "we commit this body to the deep," and
the plank was raised which precipitated to the momentary eddy of the
wave the quickly disappearing form, a heavy sigh from those around, told
that the strong heart of the sailor can be touched with grief, and that
a truly unaffected sorrow may accompany virtue, in its most unpretending
form, to its ocean grave. Yet how soon is such a scene forgotten!
"As from the wing the sky no scar retains,
The parted wave no furrow from the keel,
So dies in human hearts the thought of death."
5. There is something peculiarly melancholy and impressive in a burial
at sea: there is here no coffin or hearse, procession or tolling
bell,--nothing that gradually prepares us for the final separation. The
body is wound in the drapery of its couch, much as if the deceased were
only in a quiet and temporary sleep. In these habiliments of seeming
slumber, it is dropped into the wave, the waters close over it, the
vessel passes quickly on, and not a solitary trace is left to tell where
sunk from light and life, one that loved to look at the sky and breathe
this vital air.
6. There is nothing that, for one moment, can point to the deep,
unvisited resting-place of the departed,--it is a grave in the midst of
the ocean,--in the midst of a vast, untrodden solitude. Affection can
not approach it, with its tears; the dews of heaven can not reach it;
and there is around it no violet, or shrub, or murmuring stream.
7. It may be superstitious; but no advantages of wealth, or honor, or
power, through life, would reconcile me at its close to such a burial. I
would rather share the coarse and scanty provisions of the simplest
cabin, and drop away unknown and unhonored by the world, so that my
final resting-place be beneath some green tree, by the side of some
living stream, or in some familiar spot, where the few that loved me in
life, might visit me in death.
8. But, whether our grave be in the fragrant shade, or in the fathomless
ocean, among our kindred, or in the midst of strangers, the day is
coming when we shall all appear at one universal bar, and receive from a
righteous Judge the award of our deeds. He that is wisest, penetrates
the future the deepest.
QUESTIONS.--1. What is said of death? 2. What, of death at sea?
3. What renders a burial at sea peculiarly melancholy and impressive?
* * * * *
LESSON XCV.
MYS TE' RI OUS, secret; mystical.
UN RECK' ED, unheeded.
AR' GO SIES, ships of great burden.
WR ATH' FUL, furious; raging.
PAL' A CES, splendid mansions.
SCORN' FUL, disdainful.
DE CAY', ruin; destruction.
BOOM' ING, roaring.
FES' TAL, joyous; merry.
RE CLAIM', claim again; recover.
THE TREASURES OF THE DEEP.
MRS. HERMANS.
1. What hid'st thou in thy treasure-caves and cells?
Thou hollow-sounding and mysterious main!
Pale, glistening pearls, and rainbow-colored shells,
Bright things which gleam unrecked of, and in vain!
Keep, keep thy riches, melancholy sea!
We ask not such from thee.
2. Yet more, the depths have more! what wealth untold,
Far down, and shining through their stillness lies!
Thou hast the starry gems, the burning gold,
Won from ten thousand royal argosies!
Sweep o'er thy spoils, thou wild and wrathful main!
Earth claims not _these_ again.
3. Yet more, the depths have more! thy waves have rolled
Above the cities of a world gone by!
Sand hath filled up the palaces of old,
Sea-weed o'ergrown the halls of revelry.
Dash o'er them, Ocean! in thy scornful play!
Man yields them to decay.
4. Yet more, the billows and the depths have more!
High hearts and brave are gathered to thy breast!
They hear not now the booming waters roar;
The battle-thunders will not break their rest.
Keep thy red gold and gems, thou stormy grave!
Give back the true and brave!
5. Give back the lost and lovely,--those for whom
The place was kept at board and hearth so long,
The prayer went up through midnight's breathless gloom,
And the vain yearning woke 'midst festal song!
Hold fast thy buried isles, thy towers o'erthrown;
But all is not thine own.
6. To thee the love of woman hath gone down;
Dark flow thy tides o'er manhood's noble head,
O'er youth's bright locks, and beauty's flowery crown,
Yet must thou hear a voice,--_Restore the dead!_
Earth shall reclaim her precious things from thee!
_Restore the dead, thou Sea!_
QUESTIONS.--1. What are some of the treasures of the deep? 2. What
treasures has the sea won from trading vessels? 3. Over what does the
sea roll? 4. What does the writer call on the sea to restore?
* * * * *
LESSON XCVI.
UN FOR' TU NATE, wretched person.
CER E MENTS, grave-clothes.
SCRU' TI NY, inquiry.
MU' TI NY, resistance to rightful rule.
WON' DER MENT, curiosity.
PROV' I DENCE, care; protection.
A MAZE' MENT, astonishment.
DIS' SO LUTE, abandoned; licentious.
SPUR' RED, pushed on; impelled.
CON' TU ME LY, scorn; insult.
IN HU MAN' I TY, cruel treatment.
IN SAN' I TY, madness.
THE BRIDGE OF SIGHS.
THOMAS HOOD.
1. One more Unfortunate,
Weary of breath,
Rashly importunate,
Gone to her death!
2. Take her up tenderly,
Lift her with care,
Fashioned so slenderly,
Young, and so fair!
3. Look at her garments
Clinging like cerements;
While the wave constantly
Drips from her clothing;
Take her up instantly,
Loving, not loathing.
4. Touch her not scornfully;
Think of her mournfully,
Gently and humanly;
Not of the stains of her;
All that remains of her
Now, is pure womanly.
5. Make no deep scrutiny
Into her mutiny,
Rash and undutiful;
Past all dishonor,
Death has left on her
Only the beautiful.
6. Loop up her tresses
Escaped from the comb,--
Her fair auburn tresses;
While wonderment guesses
Where was her home?
7. Who was her father`?
Who was her mother`?
Had she a sister'?
Had she a brother'?
Or, was there a dearer one
Still, and a nearer one
Yet, than all other'?
8. Alas! for the rarity
Of Christian charity
Under the sun!
Oh! it was pitiful!
Near a whole city full,
Home she had none.
9. Sisterly, brotherly,
Fatherly, motherly,
Feelings had changed:
Love, by harsh evidence,
Thrown from its eminence;
Even God's providence
Seeming estranged.
10. Where the lamps quiver
So far in the river,
With many a light
From window and casement,
From garret to basement,
She stood with amazement,
Houseless by night.
11. The bleak winds of March
Made her tremble and shiver
But not the dark arch,
Or the black flowing river,
Mad from life's history,
Glad to death's mystery,
Swift to be hurled--
Anywhere, anywhere,
Out of the world!
12. In she plunged boldly,
No matter how coldly
The rough river ran--
Picture it--think of it,
Dissolute Man!
13. Take her up tenderly,
Lift her with care,
Fashioned so slenderly,
Young, and so fair!
14. Perishing gloomily,
Spurred by contumely,
Cold inhumanity,
Burning insanity,
Into her rest,
Cross her hands humbly,
As if praying dumbly,
Over her breast!
15. Owning her weakness,
Her evil behavior,
And leaving, with meekness,
Her sins to her Savior!
* * * * *
LESSON XCVII.
RE' QUI EM, hymn in honor of the dead.
WED, joined; united.
HENCE' FORTH, hereafter.
DROOP, languish; fail.
AF FEC TION, love.
DIM' MED, dull; obscured.
A REQUIEM.
1. Breathe low, thou gentle wind,
(pl) Breathe soft and low;
The beautiful lies dead!
The joy of life is fled!
And my lone heart is wed
Henceforth to woe!
2. That thou should'st droop and die
At early morn!
While yet thy graceful dew
A joyous fragrance drew
From every flower that grew
Life's path along!
3. The green earth mourns for thee,
Thou dearest one;
A plaintive tone is heard,
And flower and leaflet stirred,
And every fav'rite bird
Sings sad and lone.
4. Pale is thy brow, and dimmed
Thy sparkling eye!
Affection's sweetest token
Is lost fore'er and broken!
The last kind word is spoken,--
Why did'st thou die?
5. Breathe low, thou gentle wind,
Breathe soft and low;
The beautiful lies dead!
The joy of life is fled!
And my lone heart is wed
Henceforth to woe!
QUESTIONS.--1. What rule for changing _y_ into _i_ in the word
_beautiful?_ See ANALYSIS, page 13, Rule XI. 2. Why are _r_ and _m_
doubled in the words _stirred, dimmed?_ See Rule IX. 3. What is the
meaning of the suffix _let_, in the word _leaflet?_ See page 240, Ex.
185.
* * * * *
LESSON XCVIII.
LUX U' RI ANT, rich; plentiful.
UN OS TEN TA' TIOUS, plain; not showy.
RE VER EN' TIAL, deeply respectful.
RE CEP' TA CLE, place of reception.
SEM' I CIR CLE, half-circle.
REC OG NI' TION, act of knowing.
AG RI CUL' TUR AL, relating to farming.
BEN E DIC' TION, blessing.
DI' A RY, note-book; journal.
SO JOURN' ED, resided for a while.
AC CLA MA' TIONS, shouts.
TRI UMPH' AL, relating to victory.
GRAT U LA' TION, rejoicing.
IN AUG U RA' TION, act of investing with office.
EN FRAN' CHIS ED, freed; liberated.
[Headnote 1: SAR COPH' A GUS, (SARCO, _flesh_; and PHAGUS, _that which
eats or devours_,) is made up of two Greek words, signifying together
_flesh-eating_, and was applied by the ancients to a species of stone,
used for making coffins. Hence, sarcophagus came to signify a
_stone-coffin_. The form of the plural in Latin, is _sarcophagi_.]
[Headnote 2: BAS' TILE, (_bas' teel_,) an old state prison in Paris,
built in 1369, and destroyed by a mob in 1789.]
VISIT TO MOUNT VERNON.
A.C. RITCHIE.
1. At this moment, we drew near the rude wharf at Mount Vernon; the boat
stopped, and the crowd of passengers landed. By a narrow pathway we
ascended a majestic hill thickly draped with trees. The sun scarcely
found its way through the luxuriant foliage. We mounted slowly, but had
only spent a few minutes in ascending, when we came suddenly upon a
picturesque nook, where a cluster of unostentatious, white marble
shafts, shot from the greenly sodded earth, inclosed by iron railings.
Those unpretending monuments mark the localities where repose the mortal
remains of Washington's kindred.
2. Just beyond stands a square brick building. In the center you see an
iron gate. Here the crowd pauses in reverential silence. Men lift their
hats and women bow their heads. You behold within, two sarcophagi.
[Headnote 1] In those moldering tombs lie the ashes of the great
Washington and his wife. Not a word is uttered as the crowd stand
gazing on this lowly receptacle of the dust of America's mighty dead.
3. Are there any in that group who can say, "this was _our_ country's
father'?" If there be, can they stand pilgrims at that grave without
Washington's examples, his counsels, his words, heretofore, it may be,
half-forgotten, stealing back into their minds, until the sense of
reverence and gratitude is deepened almost to awe? Do they not feel that
Washington's spirit is abroad in the world, filling the souls of a
heaven-favored people with the love of freedom and of country, though
his ashes are gathered here'?
4. Some one moves to pass on; and, with that first step, the spell is
broken; others follow. Herman and Jessie linger last. After a period of
mute and moving reflection, they turn away and slowly approach the
mansion that, in simple, rural stateliness, stands upon a noble
promontory, belted with woods, and half-girdled by the sparkling waters
of the Potomac, which flow in a semicircle around a portion of the
mount.
5. The water and woodland view from the portico is highly imposing. But
it was not the mere recognition of the picturesque and beautiful in
nature, that moved Herman and Jessie. They would have felt that they
were on holy ground, had the landscape been devoid of natural charm.
Here the feet of the first of heroes had trod, and here, in boyhood, he
had sported with his beloved brother Lawrence.
6. In those forests, those deep-wooded glens, he had hunted, when a
stripling, by the side of old Lord Fairfax; here he took his first
lessons in the art of war; to this home he brought his bride; by this
old-fashioned, hospitable-looking fireside, he sat with that dear and
faithful wife; beneath yonder alley of lofty trees he has often wandered
by her side; here he indulged the agricultural tastes in which he
delighted; here resigned his Cincinnatus vocation, and bade adieu to his
cherished home at the summons of his country.
7. Here his wife received the letter which told her that he had been
appointed Commander-in-chief of the army; here, when the glorious
struggle closed at the trumpet notes of victory--when the British had
retired--when, with tears coursing down his benignant, manly
countenance, he had uttered a touching farewell--bestowed a paternal
benediction on the American army, and resigned all public service--
_here_ he returned, thinking to resume the rural pursuits that charmed
him, and to end his days in peace!
8. Here are the trees, the shrubbery he planted with his own hands, and
noted in his diary; here are the columns of the portico round which he
twined the coral honeysuckle; the ivy he transplanted still clings to
yonder garden wall; these vistas he opened through yon pine groves to
command far-off views! Here the valiant Lafayette sojourned with him;
there hangs the key of the Bastile [Headnote 2] which he presented.
9. Here flocked the illustrious men of all climes, and were received
with warm, unpretending, almost rustic hospitality. Here the French
Houdon modeled his statue, and the English Pine painted his portrait,
and caused that jocose remark, "I am so hackneyed to the touches of the
painters' pencil, that I am altogether at their beck, and sit like
'Patience on a monument!'"
10. Then came another summons from the land he had saved, and he was
chosen by unanimous voice its chief ruler. Thousands of men, women, and
children, sent up acclamations, and called down blessings on his head,
as he made his triumphal progress from Mount Vernon to New York, to take
the presidential oath. The roar of cannon rent the air. The streets
through which he passed, were illuminated and decked with flags and
wreaths. Bonfires blazed on the hills. From ships and boats floated
festive decorations. At Gray's Ferry, he passed under triumphal arches.
11. On the bridge across the Assumpink, at Trenton, (the very bridge
over which he had retreated in such blank despair, before the army of
Cornwallis, on the eve of the battle of Princeton,) thirteen pillars,
twined with laurel and evergreens, were reared by woman's hands. The
foremost of the arches those columns supported, bore the inscription,
_"The Defender of the Mothers will he the Protector of the Daughters."_
Mothers, with their white-robed daughters, were assembled beneath the
vernal arcade. Thirteen maidens scattered flowers beneath his feet, as
they sang an ode of gratulation. The people's hero ever after spoke of
this tribute, as the one that touched him most deeply.
13. When his first presidential term expired, and his heart yearned for
the peace of his domestic hearth, the entreaties of Jefferson, Randolph,
and Hamilton, forced him to forget that home for the one he held in the
hearts of patriots, and to allow his name to be used a second time. A
second time he was unanimously elected to preside over his country's
welfare. But, the period happily expired, he thankfully laid aside the
mantle of state, the scepter of power, and, five days after the
inauguration of Adams, returned here to his Mount Vernon home. And here
the good servant, whom his Lord, when He came, found watching and ready,
calmly yielded up his breath, exclaiming, "It is well!" and his spirit
was wafted to Heaven by the blessings of his enfranchised countrymen.
QUESTIONS.--1. Where is Mount Vernon? 2. What is said of Washington's
tomb? 3. Mention some of the things which he did here? 4. What
demonstrations were made by the people, as he went to New York to take
the oath of office? 5. Did he serve more than one term as President?
* * * * *
LESSON XCIX.
CHIV' AL ROUS, gallant; heroic.
HAL' LOW, consecrate; keep sacred.
MER' CE NA RY, mean; venal.
AD VEN' TUR ER, fortune-seeker.
VAN' QUISH ED, conquered.
OUT' CAST, exile; castaway.
TRAP' PINGS, ornaments; equipments.
CRU SADE', battle zealously.
CA REER' ED, moved rapidly.
PHAL' ANX, compact body of men.
TRANS PORT' ING, exulting.
TRO PHIES, memorials of victory.
PA' GEANT, pompous; showy.
MIN' ION, favorite.
LA FAYETTE.
CHARLES SPRAGUE.
1. While we bring our offerings for the mighty of our _own_ land, shall
we not remember the chivalrous spirits of _other_ shores, who shared
with them the hour of weakness and woe'? Pile to the clouds the majestic
column of glory`; let the lips of those who can speak well, hallow each
spot where the bones of your bold repose`; but forget not those who,
with your bold, went out to battle.
2. Among those men of noble daring, there was _one_, a young and gallant
stranger, who left the blushing vine-hills of his delightful France. The
people whom he came to succor, were not _his_ people; he knew them only
in the melancholy story of their wrongs. He was no mercenary adventurer,
striving for the spoil of the vanquished; the palace acknowledged him
for its lord, and the valley yielded him its increase. He was no
nameless man, staking life for reputation; he ranked among nobles, and
looked unawed upon kings.
3. He was no friendless outcast, seeking for a grave to hide a broken
heart; he was girdled by the companions of his childhood; his kinsmen
were about him; his wife was before him. Yet from all these loved ones
he turned away. Like a lofty tree that shakes down its green glories, to
battle with the winter storm, he flung aside the trappings of place and
pride, to crusade for Freedom, in Freedom's holy land. He came`; but not
in the day of successful rebellion', not when the new-risen sun of
Independence had burst the cloud of time, and careered to its place in
the heavens'.
4. He came when darkness curtained the hills, and the tempest was abroad
in its anger`; when the plow stood still in the field of promise, and
briers cumbered the garden of beauty`; when fathers were dying, and
mothers were weeping over them`; when the wife was binding up the gashed
bosom of her husband, and the maiden was wiping the death-damp from the
brow of her lover`. He came when the brave began to fear the power of
man, and the pious to doubt the favor of God. It was _then_ that this
one joined the ranks of a revolted people.
5. Freedom's little phalanx bade him a grateful welcome. With them he
courted the battle's rage; with theirs, his arm was lifted; with theirs,
his blood was shed. Long and doubtful was the conflict. At length, kind
Heaven smiled on the good cause, and the beaten invaders fled. The
profane were driven from the temple of Liberty, and, at her pure shrine,
the pilgrim-warrior, with his adored commander, knelt and worshiped.
Leaving there his offering, the incense of an uncorrupted spirit, he at
length rose, and, crowned with benedictions, turned his happy feet
toward his long-deserted home.
6. After nearly fifty years, that _one_ has come again. Can mortal
tongue tell? can mortal heart feel, the sublimity of that coming?
Exulting millions rejoice in it; and their loud, long, transporting
shout, like the mingling of many winds, rolls on, undying, to Freedom's
farthest mountains. A congregated nation comes around him. Old men bless
him, and children reverence him. The lovely come out to look upon him;
the learned deck their halls to greet him; the rulers of the land rise
up to do him homage.
7. How his full heart labors! He views the rusting trophies of departed
days; he treads the high places where his brethren molder; he bends
before the tomb of his "father;" [Footnote: Washington] his words are
tears,--the speech of sad remembrance. But he looks round upon a
ransomed land and a joyous race; he beholds the blessings these trophies
secured, for which these brethren died, for which that "father" lived;
and again his words are tears,--the eloquence of gratitude and joy.
8. Spread forth creation like a map; bid earth's dead multitudes revive;
and of all the pageant splendors that ever glittered to the sun, when
looked his burning eye on a sight like this? Of all the myriads that
have come and gone, what cherished minion ever ruled an hour like this?
Many have struck the redeeming blow for their own freedom; but who, like
this man, has bared his bosom in the cause of strangers?
9. Others have lived in the love of their own people; but who, like this
man, has drank his sweetest cup of welcome with another? Matchless
chief! of glory's immortal tablets there is one for him, for _him_
alone! Oblivion shall never shroud its splendor; the everlasting flame
of Liberty shall guard it, that the generations of men may repeat the
name recorded there, the beloved name of LA FAYETTE.
QUESTIONS.--1. Of what country was La Fayette a native? 2. What was his
position at home? 3. In what condition was this country when he came to
join our army? 4. How many years after, before he revisited this
country? 5. What demonstrations were manifested by the people? 6. What
is said of his fame?
* * * * *
LESSON C.
PRO FU' SION, abundance; variety.
CON FU' SION, intricacy; indistinct movement.
COM MO TION, agitation; shaking.
RE SULT', effect.
DI MIN' ISH, lessen.
MYS' TER Y, maze; secrecy.
HIS' TO RY, plain matter of fact.
PA' GES, boy-servants; attendants.
SPAR' RING, boxing; disputing.
PUP' PETS, dolls; small figures of persons.
FIN ISH, completion.
GLO' RI OUS, grand; splendid.
RE JECT, refuse; deny.
RE FLECT' ED, turned back; borrowed.
THE MYSTIC WEAVER.
REV. DR. HARBAUGH.
1. Weaver at his loom is sitting,
Throws his shuttle to and fro;
Foot and treadle,
Hand and pedal,
Upward, downward,
Hither, thither,
How the weaver makes them go!
As the weaver _wills_ they go.
Up and down the web is plying,
And across the woof is flying;
What a rattling!
What a battling!
What a shuffling!
What a scuffling!
As the weaver makes his shuttle,
Hither, thither, scud and scuttle.
2. Threads in single,
Threads in double;
How they mingle!
What a trouble,
Every color!
What profusion!
Every motion--
What confusion!
While the web and woof are mingling,
Signal bells above are jingling,
Telling how each figure ranges,
Telling when the color changes,
As the weaver makes his shuttle,
Hither, thither, scud and scuttle.
3. Weaver at his loom is sitting,
Throws his shuttle to and fro;
'Mid the noise and wild confusion,
Well the weaver seems to know,
As he makes his shuttle go,
What each motion,
And commotion,
What each fusion,
And confusion,
In the _grand result_ will show:
Weaving daily,
Singing gayly,
As he makes his busy shuttle,
Hither, thither, scud and scuttle.
4. Weaver at his loom is sitting,
Throws his shuttle to and fro;
See you not how shape and order
From the wild confusion grow,
As he makes his shuttle go'?
As the web and woof diminish,
Grows beyond the beauteous finish:
Tufted plaidings,
Shapes and shadings,
All the mystery
Now is history:
And we see the reason subtle,
Why the weaver makes his shuttle,
Hither, thither, scud and scuttle.
5. See the Mystic Weaver sitting,
High in Heaven--His loom below.
Up and down the treadles go:
Takes for web the world's long ages,
Takes for woof its kings and sages,
Takes the nobles and their pages,
Takes all stations and all stages.
Thrones are bobbins in His shuttle;
Armies make them scud and scuttle.
6. Web into the woof must flow,
Up and down the nations go,
As the Weaver _wills_ they go.
Men are sparring,
Powers are jarring,
Upward, downward,
Hither, thither,
See how strange the nations go,
Just like puppets in a show.
Up and down the web is plying
And across the woof is flying.
What a rattling!
What a battling!
What a shuffling!
What a scuffling!
As the Weaver makes His shuttle
Hither, thither, scud and scuttle.
7. Calmly see the Mystic Weaver,
Throw His shuttle to and fro;
'Mid the noise and wild confusion,
Well the Weaver seems to know
What each motion
And commotion,
What each fusion
And confusion,
In the grand result will show,
As the nations,
Kings and stations,
Upward, downward,
Hither, thither,
As in mystic dances, go.
8. In the Present all is mystery,
In the Past 'tis beauteous History.
O'er the mixing and the mingling,
How the signal bells are jingling!
See you not the Weaver leaving
Finished work behind in weaving'?
See you not the reason subtle,
As the web and woof diminish,
Changing into beauteous finish,
Why the Weaver makes His shuttle,
Hither, thither, scud and scuttle'?
9. _Glorious wonder_! What a weaving!
To the dull beyond believing!
Such no fabled ages know.
Only Faith can see the mystery
How, along the aisle of History
Where the feet of sages go,
Loveliest to the purest eyes,
Grand the mystic tapet lies!
Soft and smooth and even-spreading
As if made for angels' treading;
Tufted circles touching ever,
Inwrought figures fading never;
Every figure has its plaidings,
Brighter form and softer shadings;
Each illuminated,--what a riddle!--
From a Cross that gems the middle.
10. 'Tis a saying--some reject it,--
That its light is all reflected:
That the tapet's hues are given
By a Sun that shines in Heaven!
'Tis believed, by all believing
That great God Himself is weaving!
Bringing out the world's dark mystery
In the light of Faith and History;
And, as web and woof diminish,
Comes the grand and glorious finish:
When begin the golden ages,
Long foretold by seers and sages.
QUESTIONS.--1. Describe the process of weaving. 2. Who are weaving the
web of history?
* * * * *
LESSON CI.
CON FOUND', perplex; confuse.
WOOF, cloth; texture.
RAR' ER, scarcer; more excellent.
PRAI' RIES, large tracts of land, with few trees, and covered
with grass.
SAV' AGE, wild; uncultivated.
SAVAN'NA, open meadow or plain.
PI O NEERS', persons that go before to prepare the way for
others.
SCOUTS, spies.
HEART' EN, encourage.
SCAN' NED, closely examined.
CLEAV' ING, parting; separating.
HOL' I DAY, day of rest or joy.
WORK AWAY.
HARPERS' MAGAZINE.
1. Work away!
For the Master's eye is on us,
Never off us, still upon us,
Night and day!
Work away!
Keep the busy fingers plying,
Keep the ceaseless shuttles flying,
See that never thread lie wrong;
Let not clash or clatter round us,
Sound of whirring wheels, confound us;
Steady hand! let woof be strong
And firm, that has to last so long?
Work away!
2. Keep upon the anvil ringing
Stroke of hammer; on the gloom
Set 'twixt cradle and the tomb,
Showers of fiery sparkles flinging;
Keep the mighty furnace glowing;
Keep the red ore hissing, flowing
Swift within the ready mold;
See that each one than the old
Still be fitter, still be fairer
For the servant's use, and rarer
For the Master to behold:
Work away!
3. Work away!
For the Leader's eye is on us,
Never off us, still upon us,
Night and day!
Wide the trackless prairies round us,
Dark and unsunned woods surround us,
Steep and savage mountains bound us;
Far away
Smile the soft savannas green,
Rivers sweep and roll between:
Work away!
4. Bring your axes, woodmen true;
Smite the forest till the blue
Of heaven's sunny eye looks through
Every wild and tangled glade;
Jungled swamp and thicket shade
Give to day!
5. O'er the torrents fling your bridges,
Pioneers! Upon the ridges
Widen, smooth the rocky stair,--
They that follow far behind
Coming after us, will find
Surer, easier footing there;
Heart to heart, and hand with hand,
From the dawn to dusk of day,
Work away!
Scouts upon the mountain's peak,--
Ye that see the Promised Land,
Hearten us! for ye can speak
Of the Country ye have scanned,
Far away!
6. Work away!
For the Father's eye is on us,
Never off us, still upon us,
Night and day!
WORK AND PRAY!
Pray! and Work will be completer;
Work! and Prayer will be the sweeter;
Love! and Prayer and Work the fleeter
Will ascend upon their way!
7. Fear not lest the busy finger
Weave a net the soul to stay;
Give her wings,--she will not linger,
Soaring to the source of day;
Clearing clouds that still divide us
From the azure depths of rest,
She will come again! beside us,
With the sunshine on her breast,
Sit, and sing to us, while quickest
On their task the fingers move,
While the outward din wars thickest,
Songs that she hath learned above.
8. Live in Future as in Present;
Work for both while yet the day
Is our own! for lord and peasant,
Long and bright as summer's day,
Cometh, yet more sure, more pleasant,
Cometh soon our Holiday;
Work away!
* * * * *
LESSON CII.
PROP O SI' TION, proposal.
AD HE' SION, attraction.
AB SURD I TY, folly; nonsense.
VIS' ION ARY, fanciful; imaginary.
DIS CUS' SION, debate; controversy.
THE' O RY, idea; scheme of doctrine.
AM BAS' SA DOR, messenger; deputy.
NAV' I GA TORS, voyagers; seamen.
SPEC U LA' TION, theory; mental view.
EN' TER PRISE, attempt; undertaking.
FRI VOL' I TY, levity; triflingness.
PRE SENT' I MENT, previous notice.
AN TIP' O DES, (ANTI, _opposite_; PODES, _the feet_;) having
their feet opposite to ours; that is, living on the other side
of the earth.
[Headnote 1: GEN O ESE', a native of Genoa,--a famous fortified seaport
city in Northern Italy.]
[Headnote 2: LAC TAN' TIUS, one of the fathers of the Latin church, born
about the year A.D. 250. He was celebrated as a teacher of eloquence,
and before his conversion to Christianity, had so successfully studied
the great Roman orator that he afterwards received the appellation of
the "Christian Cicero."]
QUEEN ISABELLA'S RESOLVE.
FROM VINET.
QUEEN ISABELLA OF SPAIN, DON GOMEZ, AND COLUMBUS.
_Isabella._ And so, Don Gomez, it is your conclusion that we ought to
dismiss the proposition of this worthy Genoese.[Headnote 1]
_Don Gomez._ His scheme, your majesty, seems to me fanciful in the
extreme; but I am a plain matter-of-fact man, and do not see visions and
dreams, like some.
_Isa._ And yet Columbus has given us cogent reasons for believing that
it is practicable to reach the eastern coast of India by sailing in a
westerly direction.
_Don G._ Admitting that his theory is correct, namely, that the earth is
a sphere, how would it be possible for him to return, if he once
descended that sphere in the direction he proposes`? Would not the
coming back be all up-hill'? Could a ship accomplish it with even the
most favorable wind'?
_Columbus._ Will your majesty allow me to suggest that, if the earth is
a sphere, the same laws of adhesion and motion must operate at every
point on its surface; and the objection of Don Gomez would be quite as
valid against our being able to return from crossing the Strait of
Gibraltar.
_Don G._ This gentleman, then, would have us believe the monstrous
absurdity, that there are people on the earth who are our
antipodes,--who walk with their heads down, like flies on the ceiling.
_Col._ But, your majesty, if there is a law of attraction which makes
matter gravitate to the earth, and prevents its flying off into space,
may not this law operate at every point on the round earth's surface'?
_Isa._ Truly, it so seems to me; and I perceive nothing absurd in the
notion that this earth is a globe floating or revolving in space.
_Don G._ May it please your majesty, the ladies are privileged to give
credence to many wild tales which we plain matter-of-fact men can not
admit. Every step I take, confutes this visionary idea of the earth's
rotundity. Would not the blood run into my head, if I were standing
upside down! Were I not fearful of offending your majesty, I would quote
what the great Lactantius [Headnote 2] says.
_Isa_. We are not vain of our science, Don Gomez; so let us have the
quotation.
_Don G_. "Is there any one so foolish," he asks, "as to believe that
there are antipodes with their feet opposite to ours,--that there is a
part of the world in which all things are topsy-turvy, where the trees
grow with their branches downward, and where it rains, hails, and snows,
upward'?"
_Col_. I have already answered this objection. If there are people on
the earth who are our antipodes, it should be remembered that we are
theirs also.
_Don G_. Really, that is the very point wherein we matter-of-fact men
abide by the assurance of our own senses. We know that we are not
walking with our heads downward.
_Isa_. To cut short the discussion, you think that the enterprise which
the Genoese proposes, is one unworthy of our serious consideration; and
that his theory of an unknown shore to the westward of us is a fallacy.
_Don G_. As a plain matter-of-fact man, I must confess that I so regard
it. Has your majesty ever seen an ambassador from this unknown coast?
_Isa_. Don Gomez, do you believe in the existence of a world of spirits?
Have you ever seen an ambassador from that unknown world?
_Don G_. Certainly not. By faith we look forward to it.
_Isa_. Even so by faith does the Genoese look forward, far over misty
ocean, to an undiscovered shore.
_Col._ Your majesty is right; but let it be added that I have reasons,
oh! most potent and resistless reasons, for the faith that is in me: the
testimony of many navigators who have picked up articles that must have
drifted from this distant coast: the nature of things, admitting that
the earth is round: the reports current among the people of one of the
northern nations, that many years ago their mariners had sailed many
leagues westward till they reached a shore where the grape grew
abundantly; these and other considerations have made it the fixed
persuasion of my mind, that there is a great discovery reserved for the
man who will sail patiently westward, trusting in God's good providence,
and turning not back till he has achieved his purpose.
_Don G._ Then truly we should never hear of him again. Speculation! mere
speculation, your majesty! When this gentleman can bring forward some
solid facts that will induce us plain matter-of-fact men to risk money
in forwarding his enterprise, it will then be time enough for royalty to
give it heed. Why, your majesty, the very boys in the streets point at
their foreheads as he passes along.
_Isa._ And so you bring forward the frivolity of boys jeering at what
they do not comprehend, as an argument why Isabella should not give heed
to this great and glorious scheme? Ay, sir, though it should fail,
still, it has been urged in language so intelligent and convincing, by
this grave and earnest man, whom you think to undervalue by calling him
an adventurer, that I am resolved to test the "absurdity," as you style
it, and that forthwith.
_Don G._ Your majesty will excuse me if I remark, that I have from your
royal consort himself the assurance that the finances are so exhausted
by the late wars, that he can not consent to advance the necessary funds
for fitting out an expedition of the kind proposed.
_Isa._ Be _mine_, then, the privilege! I have jewels, by the pledging of
which I can raise the amount required; and I have resolved that they
shall be pledged to this enterprise, without any more delay.
_Col._ Your majesty shall not repent your heroic resolve. I will return,
your majesty; be sure I will return, and lay at your feet such a jewel
as never queen wore yet, an imperishable fame,--a fame that shall couple
with your memory the benedictions of millions yet unborn, in climes yet
unknown to civilized man. There is an uplifting presentiment in my mind,
a conviction that your majesty will live to bless the hour you came to
this decision.
_Don G._ A presentiment? A plain matter-of-fact man, like myself, must
take leave of your majesty, if his practical common-sense is to be met
and superseded by presentiments! An ounce of fact, your majesty, is
worth a ton of presentiment.
_Isa._ That depends altogether upon the source of the presentiment, Don
Gomez. If it come from the Fountain of all truth, shall it not be good?
_Don G._ I humbly take my leave of your majesty.
QUESTIONS.--1. What reasons did Don Gomez advance in proof that the
earth is not a sphere? 2. What argument did Columbus present in proof
that it was? 3. What did Queen Isabella resolve to do?
* * * * *
LESSON CIII.
CON FIRM' ING, corroborating.
AS SUR AN CES, assertions.
MU TI NEER', one who resists orders.
IN FER' RED, concluded.
CRAV' ED, begged.
AS SO' CIA TING, joining; connecting.
EX PEC TA' TION, hope; a looking for.
VER' I FIED, made true; realized.
PHOS PHO RES' CENCE, faint light.
HES I TA' TION, doubt.
EN JOIN' ING, commanding; ordering.
AM PHI THE' A TER, circular theater.
CON TR AST' ED, set in opposition.
DE MEAN' OR, behavior.
DE FAULT', defect; absence.
IN SIG' NIA, marks; signs.
IN I' TIALS, first letters.
DEV AS TA TION, a laying waste.
DISCOVERY OF THE NEW WORLD.
LAMARTINE.
1. At sunrise, on the second day, some rashes recently torn up, were
seen near the vessels. A plank, evidently hewn by an ax, a stick
skillfully carved by some cutting instrument, a bough of hawthorn in
blossom,--and lastly, a bird's nest built on a branch which the wind
had broken, and full of eggs, on which the parent bird was sitting amid
the gently-rolling waves,--were seen floating past on the waters. The
sailors brought on board these living and inanimate witnesses of their
approach to land. They were a voice from the shore, confirming the
assurances of Columbus. Before the land actually appeared in sight, its
neighborhood was inferred from these marks of life.
2. The mutineers fell on their knees before the Admiral, whom they had
insulted but the day before, craved pardon for their mistrust, and
struck up a hymn of thanksgiving to God for associating them with this
triumph. Night fell on these songs welcoming a new world. The Admiral
gave orders that the sails should be close-reefed, and the lead kept
going; and that they should sail slowly, being afraid of breakers and
shoals, and feeling certain that the first gleam of daybreak would
discover land under their bows.
3. On the last anxious night none slept. Impatient expectation had
removed all heaviness from their eyes; the pilots and the seamen,
clinging about the masts, yards, and shrouds, each tried to keep the
best place and the closest watch to get the earliest sight of the new
hemisphere. The Admiral had offered a reward to the first who should cry
_Land_, provided his announcement was verified by its actual discovery.
4. Providence, however, reserved to Columbus himself this first glimpse,
which he had purchased at the expense of twenty years of his life, and
of untiring perseverance. While walking the quarter-deck alone, at
midnight, and sweeping the dark horizon with his keen eye, a gleam of
fire passed and disappeared, and again showed itself on the level of the
waves. Fearful of being deceived by the phosphorescence of the sea, he
quietly called a Spanish gentleman of Isabella's court, in whom he had
more confidence than in the pilots, pointed out the direction in which
he had seen the light, and asked him whether he could discern any thing
there.
5. He replied that he did, indeed, see a flickering light in that
quarter. To make the fact still more sure, Columbus called another in
whom he had confidence to look in the same direction. He said he had no
hesitation in pronouncing that there was a light on the horizon. But the
blaze was hardly seen before it again disappeared in the ocean, to show
itself anew the next moment. Whether it was the light of a fire on a low
shore, alternately appearing and disappearing beyond the broken horizon,
or whether it was the floating beacon of a fisherman's boat now rising
on the waves, and now sinking in the trough of the sea, they could not
determine.
6. Thus both land and safety appeared together in the shape of fire to
Columbus and his two friends, on the night between the 11th and 12th of
October, 1492. The Admiral, enjoining silence, kept his observation to
himself, for fear of again raising false hopes, and giving a bitter
disappointment to his ships' companies. He lost sight of the light, and
remained on deck until two in the morning,--praying, hoping, and
despairing alone, awaiting the _triumph or the return_ on which the
morrow was to decide.
7. He was seized with that anguish which precedes the great discoveries
of truth, when, suddenly, a cannon-shot, sounding over the sea, a few
hundred yards in advance of him, burst upon his ear the announcement of
a _new-born world_, which made him tremble, and fall upon his knees. It
was the signal of land in sight! made by firing a shot, as had been
arranged with the _Pinta_, which was sailing in advance of the squadron,
to guide their course and take soundings.
8. At this signal a general shout of _"Land ho!"_ arose from all the
yards and riggings of the ships. The sails were furled, and daybreak was
anxiously awaited. The mystery of the ocean had breathed its first
whisper in the bosom of night. Daybreak would clear it up openly to
every eye. Delicious and unknown perfumes reached the vessels from the
outline of the shore, with the roar of the waves upon the reefs and the
soft land breeze.
9. The fire seen by Columbus indicated the presence of man, and of the
first element of civilization. Never did the night appear so long in
clearing away from the horizon; for this horizon was to Columbus and his
companions a second creation of God. The dawn, as it spread over the
sky, gradually raised the shores of an island from the waves. Its
distant extremities were lost in the morning mist. It ascended
gradually, like an amphitheater, from the low beach to the summit of the
hills, whose dark-green covering contrasted strongly with the blue
heavens.
10. Within a few paces from where the foam of the waves breaks on the
yellow sand, forests of tall and unknown trees stretched away, one above
another, over the successive terraces of the island. Green valleys and
bright clefts in the hollows, afforded a half glimpse into these
mysterious wilds. Here and there could be discovered a few scattered
huts, which, with their outlines and roofs of dry leaves, looked like
bee-hives, and thin columns of blue smoke rose above the tops of the
trees. Half-naked groups of men, women, and children, more astonished
than frightened, appeared among the thickets near the shore, advancing
timidly, and then drawing back, exhibiting, by their gestures and
demeanor, as much fear as curiosity and wonder, at the sight of these
strange vessels, which the previous night had brought to their shores.
11. Columbus, after gazing in silence on this foremost shore of the land
so often determined by his calculations, and so magnificently colored by
his imagination, found it to exceed even his own expectations. He burned
with impatience to be the first European to set foot on the sand, and to
plant the flag of Spain,--the standard of the conquest of God and of his
sovereigns, effected by his genius. But he restrained the eagerness of
himself and of his crew to land, being desirous of giving to the act of
taking possession of a new world, a _solemnity_ worthy of the greatest
deed, perhaps, ever accomplished by a seaman; and, in default of men, to
call God and His angels, sea, earth, and sky, as witnesses of his
conquest of an unknown hemisphere.
12. He put on all the insignia of his dignities as Admiral of the Ocean,
and the Viceroy of these future realms; he wrapped himself in his purple
cloak, and taking in his hand an embroidered flag, in which the initials
of Ferdinand and Isabella were interlaced, like their two kingdoms, and,
surmounted by a crown, he entered his boat, and pulled toward the shore,
followed by the boats of his two lieutenants.
13. On landing, he fell on his knees, to acknowledge, by this act of
humility and worship, the goodness and greatness of God in this new
sphere of His works. He kissed the ground, and, with his face on the
earth, he wept tears of double import, as they fell on the dust of this
hemisphere, now, for the first time, visited by Europeans,--tears of joy
for the overflowing of a proud spirit, grateful and pious,--tears of
sadness for this virgin soil, seeming to foreshadow the calamities, and
devastation, with fire and sword, and blood and destruction, which the
strangers were to bring with their pride, their knowledge, and their
power.
14. It was the _man_ that shed these tears; but it was the _earth_ that
was destined to weep. As Columbus raised his forehead from the dust,
with a Latin prayer, which his companions have handed down to us, he
thus addressed the Sovereign Ruler of the world: (_sl_.) "Almighty and
eternal God, who, by the energy of thy creative word, hast made the
firmament, the earth, and sea, blessed and glorified be Thy name in all
places! May Thy majesty and dominion be exalted forever and ever, as
Thou hast permitted Thy holy name to be made known and spread by the
most humble of Thy servants, in this hitherto unknown portion of Thy
empire."
15. He then gave to this land the name of San Salvador. His lieutenants,
his pilots, and his seamen, full of gladness, and impressed with a
superstitious respect for him whose glance had pierced beyond the
visible horizon, and whom they had offended by their unbelief,--overcome
by the evidence of their eyes, and by that mental superiority which
overawes the minds of men,--fell at the feet of the Admiral, kissed his
hands and his clothes, and recognized, for a moment, the power and the
almost divine nature of genius; _yesterday_ the victims of his
obstinacy,--_now_ the companions of his success, and sharers in the
glory which they had mocked. Such is humanity,--persecuting discoverers,
yet reaping the fruits of their inventions.
QUESTIONS.--1. What evidences had Columbus that land was near? 2. What
did the mutineers do? 3. In what month and year was the _new world_
discovered? 4. What is said of the natives? 5. What did Columbus do on
landing? 6. What was the conduct of the officers and seamen?
* * * * *
LESSON CIV.
FER' MENT, heat; glow.
EN THU' SI ASM, excitement.
PRO DIG' IOUS, very great.
SPEC I MENS, samples.
LEAGU' ED, joined; banded.
PER SUAD' ED, convinced.
PRE POS' TEROUS, absurd; ridiculous.
VAUNT' ED, boasted.
DE LU' SION, deception.
CRED' U LOUS, apt to believe.
UN RE LI' A BLE, untrustworthy.
SUS PI'' CION, doubt; mistrust.
THE RETURN OF COLUMBUS.
VINET.
DON GOMEZ AND HIS SECRETARY.
_Don Gomez_. WHAT! what is this you tell me? Columbus returned? A new
world discovered? Impossible!
_Secretary_. It is even so, sir. A courier arrived at the palace but an
hour since with the intelligence. Columbus was driven by stress of
weather to anchor in the Tagus. All Portugal is in a ferment of
enthusiasm, and all Spain will be equally excited soon. The sensation is
prodigious!
_Don G_. Oh, it is a trick! It must be a trick!
_Sec_. But he has brought home the proofs of his visit,--gold and
precious stones, strange plants and animals; and, above all, specimens
of a new race of men, copper-colored, with straight hair.
_Don G_. Still I say, a trick! He has been coasting along the African
shore, and there collected a few curiosities, which he is passing off
for proofs of his pretended discovery.
_Sec_. It is a little singular that all his men should be leagued with
him in keeping up so unprofitable a falsehood.
_Don G_. But 'tis against reason, against common sense, that such a
discovery should be made.
_Sec_. King John of Portugal has received him with royal magnificence,
has listened to his accounts, and is persuaded that they are true.
_Don G._ We shall see, we shall see. Look you, sir, a plain
matter-of-fact man, such as I, is not to be taken in by any such
preposterous story! This vaunted discovery will turn out no discovery at
all.
_Sec._ The king and queen have given orders for preparations on the most
magnificent scale for the reception of Columbus.
_Don G._ What delusion! Her majesty is so credulous. A practical,
common-sense man, like myself, can find no points of sympathy in her
nature.
_Sec._ The Indians on board the returned vessels, are said to be unlike
any known race of men.
_Don G._ Very unreliable all that! I take the common-sense view of the
thing. I am a matter-of-fact man; and do you remember what I say, it
will all turn out a trick! The crews may have been deceived. Columbus
may have steered a southerly course, instead of a westerly. Any thing is
probable, rather than that a coast to the westward of us has been
discovered.
_Sec._ I saw the courier, who told me he had conversed with all the
sailors; and they laughed at the suspicion that there could be any
mistake about the discovery, or that any other than a westerly course
had been steered.
_Don G._ Still I say, a trick! An unknown coast reached by steering
west? Impossible! The earth a globe, and men standing with their heads
down in space? Folly! An ignorant sailor from Genoa in the right, and
all our learned doctors and philosophers in the wrong? _Nonsense!_ I'm a
matter-of-fact man, sir. I will believe what I can see, and handle, and
understand. But as for believing in the antipodes, or that the earth is
round, or that Columbus has discovered land to the west,--Ring the
bell, sir; call my carriage; I will go to the palace and undeceive the
king.
* * * * *
LESSON CV.
HAR' BIN GER, forerunner; precursor.
UN PIL' LAR ED, unsupported by pillars.
UN YIELDING, stubborn.
DE CREES', edicts; laws.
HAL' LOW ED, sacred; consecrated.
MOLD' ER ING, decaying.
TWO HUNDRED YEARS AGO,
GRENVILLE MULLEN.
1. Wake your harp's music!--louder,--higher,
And pour your strains along;
And smite again each quivering wire,
In all the pride of song!
(f.)Shout like those godlike men of old,
Who, daring storm and foe,
On this blessed soil their anthem rolled,
TWO HUNDRED YEARS AGO!
2. From native shores by tempests driven,
They sought a purer sky;
And found, beneath a milder heaven,
_The home of Liberty!_
An altar rose,--and prayers,--a ray
Broke on their night of woe,--
The harbinger of Freedom's day,
TWO HUNDRED YEARS AGO!
3. They clung around that symbol too,
Their refuge and their all;
And swore, while skies and waves were blue,
That altar should not fall!
They stood upon the red man's sod,
'Neath heaven's unpillared bow,
With home,--a country, and a God,--
TWO HUNDRED YEARS AGO!
4. Oh! 'twas a hard, unyielding fate
That drove them to the seas;
And Persecution strove with Hate,
To darken her decrees:
But safe, above each coral grave,
Each booming ship did go,--
A God was on the western wave,--
TWO HUNDRED YEARS AGO!
5. They knelt them on the desert sand,
By waters cold and rude,
Alone upon the dreary strand
Of oceaned solitude!
They looked upon the high, blue air,
And felt their spirits glow,
Resolved to live or perish there,--
TWO HUNDRED YEARS AGO!
6. The warrior's red right arm was bared,
His eyes flashed deep and wild:
Was there a foreign footstep dared
To seek his home and child'?
The dark chiefs yelled alarm, and swore
The white man's blood should flow,
And his hewn bones should bleach their shore,
TWO HUNDRED YEARS AGO!
7. But lo! the warrior's eye grew dim,--
His arm was left alone;
The still, black wilds which sheltered him,
No longer were his own!
Time fled,--and on the hallowed ground
His highest pine lies low,--
And cities swell where forests frowned,
TWO HUNDRED YEARS AGO!
8. Oh! stay not to recount the tale,--
'Twas bloody, and 'tis past;
The firmest cheek might well grow pale,
To hear it to the last.
The God of Heaven who prospers us,
Could bid a nation grow,
And shield us from the red man's curse,--
TWO HUNDRED YEARS AGO!
9. Come, then,--great shades of glorious men,
From your still glorious grave!
Look on your own proud land again,
O bravest of the brave!
We call you from each mouldering tomb,
And each blue wave below,
To bless the world ye snatched from doom,
TWO HUNDRED YEARS AGO!
10. Then to your harps!--yet louder,--higher
And pour your strains along;
And smite again each quivering wire,
In all the pride of song!
(f.)Shout for those godlike men of old,
Who, daring storm and foe,
On this blessed soil their anthem rolled,
TWO HUNDRED YEARS AGO!
QUESTIONS.--1. Who are meant by _godlike men of old_? 2. Why did they
flee to this country? 3. Who warred against them?
* * * * *
LESSON CVI.
SE RENE' LY, calmly; quietly.
SUR MOUNT', rise above; overcome.
TRAMP, tread, or travel.
EB' ON, black, as ebony.
GUARD' I AN, defender; protector.
CHIV' AL RIC, brave; heroic.
MAIL, defensive armor.
EX ALT', lift up.
FRAIL' TY, weakness.
BLIGHT' ED, blasted.
RE NOWN', fame; celebrity.
STEAD' FAST, firm; resolute.
IN TER VENE', (INTER, _between_; VENE, _to come_;) come between;
interpose.
SUC CEED', (SUC, _after;_ CEED, _to come;_) come after; follow.
PRESS ON.
PARK BENJAMIN.
1. _Press on!_ there's no such word as fail!
Press nobly on! the goal is near,--
Ascend the mountain! breast the gale!
Look upward, onward,--never fear!
Why shouldst thou faint? Heaven smiles above,
Though storms and vapor intervene;
That Sun shines on, whose name is Love,
Serenely o'er Life's shadowed scene.
2. _Press on!_ surmount the rocky steeps,
Climb boldly o'er the torrent's arch:
He fails alone who feebly creeps;
He wins, who dares the hero's march.
Be thou a hero! let thy might
Tramp on eternal snows its way,
And, through the ebon walls of night,
Hew down a passage unto day.
3. _Press on!_ if once and twice thy feet
Slip back and stumble, harder try;
From him who never dreads to meet
Danger and death, they're sure to fly.
To coward ranks the bullet speeds;
While on their breasts who never quail,
Gleams, guardian of chivalric deeds,
Bright courage, like a coat of mail.
4. _Press on_! if Fortune play thee false
To-day, to-morrow she'll be true;
Whom now she sinks she now exalts,
Taking old gifts and granting new.
The wisdom of the present hour
Makes up her follies past and gone:
To weakness strength succeeds, and power
From frailty springs;--_press on_! PRESS ON!
5. _Press on_! what though upon the ground
Thy love has been poured out like rain?
That happiness is always found
The sweetest, which is born of pain.
Oft 'mid the forest's deepest glooms,
A bird sings from some blighted tree,
And, in the dreariest desert, blooms
A never-dying rose for thee.
6. Therefore, _press on_! and reach the goal,
And gain the prize, and wear the crown:
Faint not! for, to the steadfast soul,
Come wealth, and honor, and renown.
To thine own self be true, and keep
Thy mind from sloth, thy heart from soil;
_Press on_! and thou shalt surely reap
A heavenly harvest for thy toil!
QUESTIONS.--1. What encouragement is given to those who press on? 2. Who
fails, and who wins? 3. What is said of those who never dread to meet
danger and death? 4. How are they rewarded, who press on?
* * * * *
LESSON CVII.
EX PAND, develop; enlarge.
EL E VATE, raise; dignify.
VAR RI A BLE, changeable.
PHAN TAS MA GO' RIA, magic lantern; illusive representations.
UN' DU LA TING, waving; irregular.
MO BIL'I TY, movableness; readiness to move.
DO' CILE, teachable; obedient.
CE LES' TIAL, heavenly.
DIS' SI PATES, scatters, or confuses.
IN FIN' I TY, boundlessness.
GYM NAS' TIC, athletic exercise.
O PAC' I TY, state of being opaque or dark.
PA THET' IC, feeling; tender.
IN DOM' I TA BLE, unconquerable.
CO-OP' ER ATE, work with; join with.
MOUNT PER' DU, one of the high summits of the Pyrenees
mountains, in Spain. The name signifies "Lost Mountain;" in
allusion, probably, to its peak being lost in the clouds.
THE THREE FORMS OF NATURE.
FROM THE FRENCH OF MICHELET.
1. There are three forms of Nature, which especially command and elevate
our souls, release her from her heavy clay and earthly limits, and send
her, exulting, to sail amidst the wonders and mysteries of the Infinite.
_First_, there is the unstable _Ocean of Air_ with its glorious banquet
of light, its vapors, its twilight, and its shifting phantasmagoria of
capricious creatures, coming into existence only to depart the next
instant.
2. _Second_, there is the fixed _Ocean of the Earth_, its undulating and
vast waves, as we see them from the tops of "the earth o'er gazing
mountains," the elevations which testify to antique mobility, and the
sublimity of its mightier mountain-tops, clad in eternal snows. _Third_,
there is the _Ocean of Waters_, less mobile than air, less fixed than
earth, but liable, in its movements, to the celestial bodies.
3. _These three things_ form the gamut by which the Infinite speaks to
our souls. Nevertheless, let us point out some very notable differences.
The _Air-ocean_ is so mobile that we can scarcely examine it. It
deceives; it decoys; it diverts; it dissipates, and breaks up our chain
of thought.
4. For an instant, it is an immense hope, the day of all infinity; anon,
it is not so; all flies from before us, and our hearts are grieved,
agitated, and filled with doubt. Why have I been permitted to see for a
moment that immense flood of light? The memory of that brief gleaming
must ever abide with me, and that memory makes all things here on earth
look dark.
5. The _fixed Ocean of the mountains_ is not thus transient or fugitive;
on the contrary, it stops us at every step, and imposes upon us the
necessity of a very hard, though wholesome gymnastic. Contemplation here
has to be bought at the price of the most violent action. Nevertheless,
the opacity of the earth, like the transparency of the air, frequently
deceives and bewilders us. Who can forget that for ten years, Ramon, in
vain, sought to reach Mount Perdu though often within sight of it?
6. Great, _very great_, is the difference between the elements; the
earth is mute and the ocean speaks. The ocean is a voice. It speaks to
the distant stars; it answers to their movements in its deep and solemn
language. It speaks to the earth on the shores, replying to the echoes
that reply again; by turns wailing, soothing, threatening--its deepest
roar is presently succeeded by a sad, pathetic silence.
7. And it especially addresses itself to man. It is creation's living
eloquence. It is Life speaking to Life. The millions, the countless
myriads of beings to which it gives birth, are its words. All these,
mingled together make the unity, the great and solemn voice of the
ocean. And "what are those wild waves saying?" They are talking of
_Life,--of Immortality._
8. An indomitable strength is at the bottom of Nature--how much more so
at Nature's summit, the Soul! And it speaks of partnership, of union.
Let us accept the swift exchange which, in the individual, exists
between the diverse elements; let us accept the superior Law which
unites the living members of the same body--Humanity; and, still more,
let us accept and respect the supreme Law which makes us co-operate with
the great Soul, associated as we are--in proportion with our
powers--with the loving harmony of the world--copartners in the life of
God.
QUESTIONS.--1. What are three great forms of Nature? 2. What is said of
the Air-ocean? 3. How does the Ocean address itself to man?
* * * * *
LESSON CVIII.
MO NOP' O LIZED, engrossed.
CEL' E BRA TED, praised; talked of.
PO' TENT LY, powerfully.
MAR' I TIME, pertaining to sea.
SA GAC' I TY, acuteness.
IN TRE PID' I TY, daring valor.
SAN' GUINE, bloody; cruel.
EC CEN TRIC' I TY, peculiarity, oddity.
WA' RI NESS, cautiousness.
ED' I BLE, eatable.
E MAN' CI PA TED, freed; liberated.
IN TER ME' DI ATE, lying between.
DEV AS TA TING, laying waste.
DOUB' LE, sail around.
[Headnote 1: BASQUES, (_basks_), an ancient and peculiar people, living
on the slopes of the Pyrenees Mountains.]
[Headnote 2: BRE' TON, a native of Brittany, an ancient province in
France.]
[Headnote 3: NOR' MAN, that is, Northman, a name given to the ancient
inhabitants of Norway, Denmark, and Sweden, and afterward to their
descendants who settled in the north of France.]
THE WHALE AND THE WHALER.
FROM THE FRENCH OF MICHELET.
1. Who opened up to men the great distant navigation? Who revealed the
ocean, and marked out its zones and its liquid highways? Who discovered
the secrets of the globe? _The Whale and the Whaler!_ And all this
before Columbus and the famous gold-seekers, who have monopolized all
the glory, found again, with much outcry about their discovery, what had
so long before been discovered by the whalers.
2. That crossing of the ocean, which was so boastfully celebrated in the
fifteenth century, had often been made, not only by the narrow passage
between Iceland and Greenland, but, also, by the open sea; for the
Basques [Headnote 1] went to Newfoundland. The smallest danger was the
mere voyage; for these men, who went to the very end of the _then_ known
world, to challenge the whale to single combat, to steer right away into
the Northern sea, to attack the mighty monster, amid darkness and
storms, with the dense fog all around, and the foaming waves
below,--those who could do this, were not the men to shrink from the
ordinary dangers of the voyage.
3. Noble warfare! Great school of courage! That fishery was not _then_,
as it is _now_, an easy war to wage, made from a distance, and with a
potently murderous machine. No; the fisher then struck with his own
strong hand, impelled and guided by his own fearless heart, and he
risked life to take life. The men of that day killed but few whales; but
they gained infinitely in maritime ability, in patience, in sagacity,
and in intrepidity. They brought back _less_ of oil; but _more, far
more_ of glory.
4. Every nation has its own peculiar genius. We recognize each by its
own style of procedure. There are a hundred forms of courage, and these
graduated varieties formed, as it were, another heroic game. At the
North, the Scandinavian, the rude race from Norway to Flanders, had
their sanguine fury. At the South, the wild burst, the gay daring, the
clear-headed excitement, that impelled, at once, and guided them over
the world. In the center, the silent and patient firmness of the
Breton [Headnote 2], who yet, in the hour of danger, could display a
quite sublime eccentricity. And, lastly, the Norman [Headnote 3]
wariness, considerately courageous; daring all, but daring all for
success. Such was the beauty of man, in that sovereign manifestation of
human courage.
5. We owe a vast deal to the whale. But for it, the fishers would still
have hugged the shore; for, almost every edible fish seeks the shore and
the river. It was the whale that emancipated them, and led them afar. It
led them onward, and onward still, until they found it, after having
almost unconsciously passed from one world to the other. Greenland did
not seduce them; it was not _the land_ that they sought; but _the sea,
and the tracks of the whale_.
6. The ocean at large is its home, and _especially_ the broad and open
sea. Each species has its especial preference for this or that
latitude,--for a certain zone of water, more or less cold. And it was
_that_ preference which traced out the great divisions of the Atlantic.
The tribe of inferior whales, that have a dorsal fin, are to be found in
the warmest and in the coldest seas,--under the line and in the polar
seas.
7. In the great intermediate region, the fierce Cachalot inclines toward
the south, devastating the warm waters. On the contrary, the Free Whale
fears the warm waters,--we should rather say, that they did, formerly,
fear them,--they have become so scarce. They are never found in the warm
southern current; it is _that_ fact that led to the current being
noticed, and thence to the discovery of the _true course from America to
Europe_. From Europe to America, the trade winds will serve us.
8. If the Free Whale has a perfect horror of the warm waters, and can
not pass the equator, it is clear that he can not double the southern
end of America. How happens it, then, that when he is wounded on one
side of America, in the Atlantic, he is sometimes found on the other
side of America, and in the Pacific? _It proves that there is a
north-western passage_. Another discovery which we owe to the whale, and
one which throws a broad light alike on the form of the globe, and the
geography of the seas!
9. By degrees, the whale has led us everywhere. Rare as he is at
present, he has led us to both poles, from the uttermost recesses of the
Pacific to Behring's Strait, and the infinite wastes of the Antarctic
waters. There is even an enormous region that no vessel, whether
war-ship or merchantman, ever traverses, at a few degrees beyond the
southern points of America and Africa. No one visits that region but the
whaler.
QUESTIONS.--1. What has been done by the whaler? 2. By whom had
Newfoundland been discovered? 3. What is said of the courage of the
whaler? 4. What proof is given that there is a north-western passage,
by water, from the Atlantic to the Pacific?
* * * * *
LESSON CIX.
THRALL' DOM, bondage; slavery.
IG NO' BLE, mean; degraded.
HORDE, clan; tribe.
FEUD' AL, pertaining to military tenure.
DES' POTS, tyrants.
PAL' TRY, mean; contemptible.
RAP' INE,(_rapin;_) plunder; violence.
FOR SOOTH', in truth; in fact.
RUF' FIAN, robber; cut-throat.
SERV' ILE, slavish; cringing.
LIM' NERS, painters.
DIS CI' PLE, learner; follower.
CORSE, corpse; dead body.
BRAWL, wrangle; contention.
DIS TAIN' ED, sullied; stained.
ECH' O ED, resounded.
RIENZI'S ADDRESS TO THE ROMANS.
[Footnote: RI EN' ZI, the last of the Roman Tribunes, was born in Rome
about the year 1310. He was assassinated Oct. 8th, 1354 He was a person
of extraordinary eloquence. In his day, Rome was a prey to contending
factions of nobles. This kept the city in constant turmoil, and
subjected the people to continual abuse and tyranny. It was the endeavor
of Rienzi to arouse them to a resolution to be free.]
MISS MITFORD.
1. Friends!
I come not here to _talk_. You know too well
The story of our thralldom. We are _slaves!_
The bright sun rises to his course, and lights
A race of _slaves!_ He sets, and his last beam
Falls on a _slave_: not such as, swept along
By the full tide of power, the conqueror leads
To crimson glory and undying fame;
_But base, ignoble slaves!_ slaves to a horde
Of petty tyrants, feudal despots, lords,
Rich in some dozen paltry villages;
Strong in some hundred spearmen; only great
In that strange spell,--_a name_.
2. Each hour, dark fraud,
Or open rapine, or protected murder,
Cries out against them. But this very day,
An honest man, my neighbor,--there he stands,
Was struck, _struck_ like a dog, by one who wore
The badge of Ursini; because, forsooth,
He tossed not high his ready cap in air,
Nor lifted up his voice in servile shouts,
At sight of that great ruffian!
3. (f.) Be we _men_,
And suffer such dishonor'? MEN, and wash not
The stain away in blood'? Such shames are common!
I have known deeper wrongs. I, that speak to ye,
I had a brother once, a gracious boy,
Full of gentleness, of calmest hope,
Of sweet and quiet joy; there was the look
Of heaven upon his face, which limners give
To the beloved disciple!
4. How I loved
That gracious boy! Younger by fifteen years,
Brother at once, and son! He left my side,
A summer bloom on his fair cheek,--a smile
Parting his innocent lips. In one short hour,
That pretty, harmless boy was slain! (_p_.) I saw
The corse, the mangled corse, and then I cried
For vengeance! (_ff_.) _Rouse ye, Romans!_--ROUSE YE, SLAVES!
Have ye brave sons? Look in the next fierce brawl
To see them die! Have ye fair daughters? Look
To see them live, torn from your arms, distained,
Dishonored; and if ye dare call for justice,
Be answered by the lash!
5. Yet this is Rome,
That sat on her seven hills, and, from her throne
Of beauty, ruled the world! Yet we are Romans!
Why, in that elder day, to be a Roman,
Was greater than a king! And once again,--
Hear me, ye walls, that echoed to the tread
Of either Brutus! Once again I swear,
The eternal city shall be free!
QUESTIONS.--1. In what condition did the writer say the Roman people
were? 2. What wrongs are complained of? 3. What special cases are
mentioned? 4. What are the people exhorted to do? 5. What is the meaning
of the suffix _dom_, in the word _thralldom?_ See ANALYSIS, page 142,
Ex. 189. 6. What is the meaning of the suffix _less_, in the word
_harmless?_ See page 140, Ex. 187. 7. How, according to the notation
mark, should the first part of the third verse be read? 8. What rule for
the rising inflections, third verse? See page 28, Rule I.
* * * * *
LESSON CX.
MUL' TI PLY, increase; continue.
COL'TER, part of the plow that cuts the sod.
GE' NI AL, productive.
BE NIG' NANT, kind; bounteous.
SAUN' TER ING, loitering.
WOOD' BINE, honeysuckle.
RE SPLEN DENT, splendid, beautiful.
PO' TENT, powerful.
ROAD' STEAD, place where ships may anchor.
RE LI' ANT, trusting; depending.
PES TI LEN' TIAL, infectious; noxious.
PER PET' U AL, continual.
STER' ILE, barren.
[Headnote 1: LE ON' I DAS, the celebrated Spartan leader who, with three
hundred men, perished in the effort to resist the Persian hosts, at the
mountain pass of Thermopylae, (B.C., 480.)]
[Headnote 2: MARS' TON, that is, Marston Moor, a place in Yorkshire,
England, memorable for the defeat of Charles I., (in 1644,) by the
forces of Cromwell and others.]
[Headnote 3: BAN' NOCK BURN, a village in Stirlingshire, Scotland,
famous for the battle between the patriots, under Robert Bruce, and the
English invading army, under Edward II., fought, June 25, 1314.]
[Headnote 4: AR MA' DA, a great naval armament sent by Philip II. of
Spain, in 1588, for the conquest of England. It failed utterly, however,
of its object, having been scattered and disabled by violent storms.]
SONG OF THE FORGE.
1. Clang! clang! the massive anvils ring,--
Clang! clang! a hundred hammers swing,
Like the thunder-rattle of a tropic sky,
The mighty blows still multiply:
Clang! clang!
Say, brothers of the dusky brow,
What are your strong arms forging now?
2. Clang! clang!--we forge the _colter_ now--
The colter of the kindly plow;
Benignant Father, bless our toil;
May its broad furrow still unbind
To genial rains, to sun and wind,
The most productive soil!
3. Clang! clang!--our colter's course shall be
On many a sweet and sunny lea,
By many a streamlet's silver tide,
Amidst the song of morning birds,
Amidst the low of sauntering herds,
Amidst soft breezes which do stray
Through woodbine-hedges and sweet May,
Along the green hill's side.
4. When regal Autumn's bounteous hand,
With wide-spread glory clothes the land,--
When, to the valleys, from the brow
Of each resplendent slope, is rolled
A ruddy sea of living gold,
We bless,--we bless the PLOW.
5. Clang! clang!--again, my mates, what glows
Beneath the hammer's potent blows?
Clink! clank!--we forge the _giant chain_,
Which bears the gallant vessel's strain,
'Midst stormy winds and adverse tides;
Secured by this, the good ship braves
The rocky roadstead and the waves
Which thunder on her sides.
6. Anxious no more, the merchant sees
The mist drive dark before the breeze.
The storm-cloud on the hill;
Calmly he rests, though, far away
In boisterous climes, his vessel lay
Reliant on our skill.
7. Say, on what sands these links shall sleep,
Fathoms beneath the solemn deep`?
By Afric's pestilential shore',--
By many an iceberg, lone and hoar',--
By many a palmy western isle,
Basking in spring's perpetual smile',--
By stormy Labrador'?
8. Say, shall they feel the vessel reel,
When, to the battery's deadly peal,
The crashing broadside makes reply'?
Or else, as at the glorious Nile,
Hold grappling ships, that strive the while,
For death or victory'?
9. _Hurrah!_--cling! clang!--once more, what glows,
Dark brothers of the forge, beneath
The iron tempest of your blows
The furnace's fiery breath?
10. Clang! clang!--a burning torrent, clear
And brilliant, of bright sparks is poured
Around and up in the dusky air,
As our hammers forge the SWORD.
11. The _sword!_ a name of dread; yet when
Upon the freeman's thigh 'tis bound,
While for his altar and his hearth,--
While for the land that gave him birth,
The war-drums roll, the trumpets sound,
How _sacred_ is it then!
12. Whenever for the truth and right
It flashes in the van of fight,
Whether in some wild mountain pass
As that where fell Leonidas [Headnote 1];
Or on some sterile plain and stern,
A Marston [Headnote 2] or a Bannockburn [Headnote 3];
Or, mid fierce crags and bursting rills,
The Switzer's Alps, gray Tyrol's hills,--
Or, as when sunk the Armada's [Headnote 4] pride,
It gleams above the stormy tide,--
Still, still, whene'er the battle word
Is LIBERTY, when men do stand
For _justice_ and their _native land_,
Then Heaven bless THE SWORD!
QUESTIONS.--1. What things are mentioned as being forged? 2. What is
said of the colter? 3. What, of the iron cable? 4. What, of the sword?
* * * * *
LESSON CXI.
BEN E FAC' TION, gift; favor.
E LATE', flushed with success.
IN HER' ENT, natural.
PER FEC' TION, excellence.
VIG' ILS, watchfulness.
UN BRIB' ED, not influenced by gifts.
CON SO LA' TION, comfort.
AV' E NUE, way; entrance.
A TROC' I TIES, enormities.
MOCK' ER Y, derision; ridicule.
FAC' UL TIES, powers of the mind.
CA PAC' I TIES, abilities.
CHOICE EXTRACTS.
I.
SWIFTNESS OF TIME.
IDLER.
Let him that desires to see others happy, make haste to give while his
gift can be enjoyed, and remember that every moment of delay takes away
something from the value of his benefaction. And let him who proposes
his own happiness, reflect, that while he forms his purpose, the days
roll on, and "the night cometh when no man can work."
II.
THE SHIP OF STATE.
LONGFELLOW.
Thou, too, sail on, O Ship of State!
Sail on, O Union, strong and great!
Humanity, with all its fears,
With all the hopes of future years,
Is hanging breathless on thy fate!
We know what Master laid thy keel,
What workmen wrought thy ribs of steel,
Who made each mast, and sail, and rope,
What anvils rang, what hammers beat,
In what a forge, and what a heat,
Were shaped the anchors of thy hope.
III.
THE TRUE HERO.
HORACE BUSHNELL.
The true hero is the great, wise man of duty,--he whose soul is armed by
truth and supported by the smile of God,--he who meets life's perils
with a cautious but tranquil spirit, gathers strength by facing its
storms, and dies, if he is called to die, as a Christian victor at the
post of duty. And, if we must have heroes, and wars wherein to make
them, there is none so brilliant as a war with wrong,--no hero so fit to
be sung as he who hath gained the bloodless victory of truth and mercy.
IV.
HEART ESSENTIAL TO GENIUS.
W.G. SIMMS.
We are not always equal to our fate,
Nor true to our conditions. Doubt and fear
Beset the bravest, in their high career,
At moments when the soul, no more elate
With expectation, sinks beneath the time.
The masters have their weakness. "I would climb,"
Said Raleigh, gazing on the highest hill,--
"But that I tremble with the fear to fall."
Apt was the answer of the high-souled queen:
"If thy heart fail thee, never climb at all!"
The heart! if that be sound, confirms the rest,
Crowns genius with his lion will and mien,
And, from the conscious virtue in the breast,
To trembling nature gives both strength and will.
V.
EDUCATION.
ADDISON.
I consider a human soul without education, like marble in the quarry,
which shows none of its inherent beauties until the skill of the
polisher fetches out the colors, makes the surface shine, and discovers
every ornamental cloud, spot, and vein that runs through the body of it.
Education, after the same manner, when it works upon a noble mind, draws
out every latent virtue and perfection, which, without such helps, are
never able to make their appearance.
VI.
THE VANITY OF WEALTH.
DR. JOHNSON.
No more thus brooding o'er yon heap,
With av'rice painful vigils keep;
Still unenjoyed the present store,
Still endless sighs are breathed for more.
Oh! quit the shadow, catch the prize,
Which not all India's treasure buys!
To purchase Heaven has gold the power'?
Can gold remove the mortal hour?
In life, can love be bought with gold?
Are friendship's pleasures to be sold?
No; all that's worth a wish--a thought,
Fair Virtue gives unbribed, unbought.
Cease then on trash thy hopes to bind;
Let _nobler views_ engage thy mind.
VII.
CONSOLATION OF THE GOSPEL.
A. ALEXANDER.
Oh, precious gospel! Will any merciless hand endeavor to tear away from
our hearts, this last, this sweetest consolation? Would you darken the
only avenue through which one ray of hope can enter? Would you tear from
the aged and infirm poor the only prop on which their souls can repose
in peace? Would you deprive the dying of their only source of
consolation? Would you rob the world of its richest treasure? Would you
let loose the flood-gates of every vice, and bring back upon the earth
the horrors of superstition, or the atrocities of atheism? Then endeavor
to subvert the gospel; throw around you the firebrands of infidelity;
laugh at religion, and make a mockery of futurity; but be assured that
for all these things, God will bring you into judgment.
VIII.
THE LIGHT OF HOPE.
O.W.B. PEABODY.
1. Oh, who that has gazed, in the stillness of even,
On the fast-fading hues of the west,
Has seen not afar, in the bosom of heaven,
Some bright little mansion of rest,
And mourned that the path to a region so fair
Should be shrouded with sadness and fears;--
That the night-winds of sorrow, misfortune, and care,
Should sweep from the deep-rolling waves of despair,
To darken this cold world of tears?
2. And who that has gazed, has not longed for an hour,
When misfortune forever shall cease;
And Hope, like the rainbow, unfold, through the shower,
Her bright-written promise of peace?
And, oh! if that rainbow of promise may shine
On the last scene of life's wint'ry gloom,
May its light in the moment of parting be mine;
I ask but one ray from a source so divine,
To brighten the vale of the tomb.
IX.
PAMPERING THE BODY AND STARVING THE SOUL.
EDWARD EVERETT.
1. What`! feed a child's body, and let his soul hunger'? pamper his
limbs, and starve his faculties'? Plant the earth, cover a thousand
hills with your droves of cattle, pursue the fish to their hiding-places
in the sea, and spread out your wheat-fields across the plain, in order
to supply the wants of that body which will soon be as cold and as
senseless as the poorest clod, and let the pure spiritual essence within
you, with all its glorious capacities for improvement, languish and
pine'?
2. What`! build factories, turn in rivers upon the water-wheels, unchain
the imprisoned spirits of steam, to weave a garment for the body, and
let the soul remain unadorned and naked'? What`! send out your vessels
to the furthest ocean, and make battle with the monsters of the deep, in
order to obtain the means of lighting up your dwellings and workshops,
and prolonging the hours of labor for the meat that perisheth, and
permit that vital spark, which God has kindled, which He has intrusted
to our care, to be fanned into a bright and heavenly flame,--permit it,
I say, to languish and go out'?
3. What considerate man can enter a school, and not reflect, with awe,
that it is a seminary where immortal minds are training for eternity'?
What parent but is, at times, weighed down with the thought, that
_there_ must be laid the foundations of a building which will stand,
when not merely temple and palace, but the perpetual hills and
adamantine rocks on which they rest, have melted away`!--that a light
may _there_ be kindled which will shine, not merely when every
artificial beam is extinguished, but when the affrighted sun has fled
away from the heavens`?
* * * * *
LESSON CXII.
FRUIT' AGE, collection of fruits.
WAX' ES, grows; increases.
JU' BI LANT, joyous.
TINGE, imbue.
GLO' RI FI ED, exalted to glory.
UN WA' RY, incautious.
FAM' ISH ED, afflicted with hunger.
BAN' ISH ED, driven out; expelled.
RE NEW' ED, made new again.
MA TUR' ING, ripening.
VINT' AGE, produce of the vine.
DIS LOY' AL TY, unfaithfulness.
BE QUEATH' ED, left by inheritance.
CON SID' ER ATE, thoughtful.
RE VIV' I FY, (RE, _again_; VIV, _live_; IFY, _to make_;) to
make alive again, to bring to life; renew.
WE ALL DO FADE AS A LEAF.
GAIL HAMILTON.
1. "_We all do fade as a leaf_." Change is the essence of life. "Passing
away," is written on all things; and passing away is passing on from
strength to strength, from glory to glory. Spring has its growth, summer
its fruitage, and autumn its festive in-gathering. The spring of eager
preparation waxes into the summer of noble work; mellowing in its turn
into the serene autumn, the golden-brown haze of October, when the soul
may robe itself in jubilant drapery, awaiting the welcome command, "Come
up higher," where mortality shall be swallowed up in life.
2. Why, then, should autumn tinge our thoughts with sadness. We fade as
the leaf, and the leaf fades only to revivify. Though it fall, it shall
rise again. Does the bud fear to become a blossom, or the blossom
shudder as it swells into fruit; and shall the redeemed weep that they
must become glorified'? Strange inconsistency`! We faint with the burden
and the heat of the day. We bow down under the crosses that are laid
upon our shoulders. We are bruised and torn by the snares and pitfalls
which beset our way, and into which our unwary feet often fall.
3. We are famished, and foot-sore, and travel-stained, from our long
journey, and yet we are saddened by tokens that we shall pass away from
all these,--away from sin and sorrow, from temptation and fall, from
disappointment, and weary waiting, and a fearful looking-for of evil, to
purity and holiness, and the full fruition of every hope,--bliss which
eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, nor heart conceived,--to a world
whence all that made this dreary is forever banished, and where all that
made this delightful is forever renewed and increased,--a world where
the activities and energies of the soul shall have full scope, and love
and recognition wait upon its steps forever.
4. Let him alone fear, who does not fade as the leaf,--him whose
sources are not in God, and who does not draw his life thence,--him
whose spring is gathering no strength, whose summer is maturing no
fruit, and whose autumn shall have no vintage. Is not this the real
sorrow of us all? not a dread of change, but a secret consciousness of
wasted power,--of disloyalty to God, as the supreme object of our love
and service.
5. Yet even here the fading leaf brings hope. Our future is always
before us. The past is fixed. No tears can wash away its facts. Let us
waste no vain regrets upon it; but, from the wisdom which its very
mistakes and sins have bequeathed us, start afresh on the race. Though
yesterday we were weak, and selfish, and indolent, let us to-day--at
this moment--begin to be strong, and brave, and helpful, and just, and
generous, and considerate, and tender, and truthful, and pure, and
patient, and forgiving. "Now" is a glorious word. "HENCEFORTH" is always
within our grasp.
QUESTIONS.--1. To what are we compared? 2. What is said of change? 3.
What change takes place in the leaf? 4. What, in man? 5. Who have reason
to fear? 6. What is said of the past and the future?
* * * * *
LESSON CXIII.
UN HEED' ED, not regarded.
EX POS' ED, unprotected.
EX HORT' ED, urged; persuaded.
AT TUN' ED, put in tune.
ES SEN' TIAL, real; true.
AN NOUNC' ED, proclaimed.
TEACHINGS OF NATURE.
POLLOCK.
1. The seasons came and went, and went and came,
To teach men gratitude; and, as they passed,
Gave warning of the lapse of time, that else
Had stolen unheeded by: the gentle flowers
Retired, and, stooping o'er the wilderness,
Talked of humility, and peace, and love.
The dews came down unseen at evening tide.
And silently their bounties shed, to teach
Mankind unostentatious charity.
2. With arm in arm the forest rose on high,
And lesson gave of brotherly regard;
And, on the rugged mountain brow exposed,
Bearing the blast alone, the ancient oak
Stood, lifting high his mighty arm, and still
To courage in distress exhorted loud.
The flocks, the herds, the birds, the streams, the breeze,
Attuned the heart to melody and love.
3. Mercy stood in the cloud, with eye that wept
Essential love; and, from her glorious brow,
Bending to kiss the earth in token of peace,
With her own lips, her gracious lips, which God
Of sweetest accent made, she whispered still,
She whispered to Revenge, Forgive! forgive!
4. The Sun, rejoicing round the earth, announced
Daily the wisdom, power, and love of God.
The Moon awoke, and, from her maiden face
Shedding her cloudy locks, looked meekly forth,
And, with her virgin stars, walked in the heavens,--
Walked nightly there, conversing as she walked
Of purity, and holiness, and God.
5. In dreams and visions, sleep instructed much.
Day uttered speech to day, and night to night
Taught knowledge: silence had a tongue: the grave,
The darkness, and the lonely waste, had each
A tongue, that ever said, Man! think of God!
Think of thyself! think of eternity!
6. Fear God, the thunders said; Fear God, the waves;
Fear God, the lightning of the storm replied;
Fear God, deep loudly answered back to deep.
And, in the temples of the Holy One,
Messiah's messengers, the faithful few,
Faithful 'mong many false, the Bible opened,
And cried: Repent! repent, ye Sons of Men!
Believe, be saved.
QUESTIONS.--1. What do the seasons teach? 2. What, the trees?
3. What, the sun and moon? 4. What, Messiah's messengers?
* * * * *
LESSON CXIV.
BE DECK' ED, adorned.
AR RAY', dress; attire.
MAN' TLED, spread; rushed.
DE VO' TION, attachment.
I DOL A TROUS, excessive.
SEV' ER ED, rent; sundered.
EN CIR' CLED, inclosed; surrounded.
SA' BLES, mourning clothes.
GIFT' ED, talented.
FOUND ED, established.
AL LURE', (AL, _to_; LURE, _draw_;) draw to; entice.
PASSING UNDER THE ROD.
[Footnote: These lines are founded on the following passage of Jewish
history:--"It was the custom of the Jews to select the tenth of their
sheep after this manner: The lambs were separated from their dams, and
inclosed in a sheep-cot, with only one narrow way out; the lambs
hastened to join the dams, and a man, placed at the entrance, with a rod
dipped in ocher, touched every tenth lamb, and so marked it with his
rod, saying, 'LET THIS BE HOLY.' Hence, God says by his prophet, '_I
will cause you to pass under the rod_.'"]
MARY S.B. DANA.
1. I saw the young bride, in her beauty and pride,
Bedecked in her snowy array;
And the bright flush of joy mantled high on her cheek,
And the future looked blooming and gay:
And with a woman's devotion she laid her fond heart
At the shrine of idolatrous love;
And she anchored her hopes to this perishing earth,
By the chain which her tenderness wove.
But I saw, when those heartstrings were bleeding and torn,
And the chain had been severed in two,
She had changed her white robes for the sables of grief,
And her bloom for the paleness of woe!
But the Healer was there, pouring balm on her heart,
And wiping the tears from her eyes;
And He strengthened the chain He had broken in twain,
And fastened it firm to the skies!
There had whispered a voice,--'twas the voice of her God:
"I love thee--I love thee--_pass under the rod!_"
2. I saw the young mother in tenderness bend
O'er the couch of her slumbering boy;
And she kissed the soft lips as they murmured her name,
While the dreamer lay smiling in joy.
Oh, sweet as the rose-bud encircled with dew,
When its fragrance is flung on the air,
So fresh and so bright to that mother he seemed,
As he lay in his innocence there.
But I saw when she gazed on the same lovely form,
Pale as marble, and silent, and cold,
But paler and colder her beautiful boy,
And the tale of her sorrow was told!
But the Healer was there, who had stricken her heart,
And taken her treasure away;
To allure her to heaven, He has placed it on high,
And the mourner will sweetly obey.
There had whispered a voice,--'twas the voice of her God:
"I love thee--I love thee--_pass under the rod!_"
3. I saw, too, a father and mother who leaned
On the arms of a dear gifted son;
And the star in the future grew bright to their gaze,
As they saw the proud place he had won;
And the fast coming evening of life promised fair,
And its pathway grew smooth to their feet,
And the starlight of love glimmered bright at the end,
And the whispers of fancy were sweet.
And I saw them again, bending low o'er the grave,
Where their hearts' dearest hope had been laid;
And the star had gone down in the darkness of night,
And the joy from their bosoms had fled.
But the Healer was there, and His arms were around,
And He led them with tenderest care;
And He showed them a star in the bright upper world,
'Twas their star shining brilliantly there!
They had each heard a voice,--'twas the voice of their God:
"I love thee--I love thee--_pass under the rod_!"
QUESTIONS.--1. What custom is alluded to, in the passage "_I will cause
you to pass under the rod?_" See note. 2. Where is that passage found in
the Scriptures? Ans. Ezekiel, 20th chap., 37th verse. 3. What instances
are mentioned of individuals "_passing under the rod_?"
* * * * *
LESSON CXV.
PET' U LANT, cross; fretful.
CA LAM' I TY, misfortune.
SA TIR' IC AL, keenly severe; cutting.
NUI' SANCE, annoyance.
JUST' I FY, give a right to.
STU PID' I TY, extreme dullness.
CUL' PABLE, blamable; censurable.
IR RI TA BIL' I TY, excitableness.
AP PEL LA' TION, name; title.
VE' HE MENT, violent; furious.
VO CIF ER A' TIONS, loud outcries.
MEN' A CES, threats.
CEN' SUR ED, blamed.
VIN DI CA' TION, justification.
LON GEV' I TY, length of life.
CON TEMPT' I BLE, despicable.
THE PETULANT MAN.
OSBORNE.
MR. GRIM--MICHAEL--COUSIN MARY.
_Cousin Mary_. More breezes? What terrible thing has happened now,
Cousin Grim? What's the matter?
_Grim_. Matter enough, I should think! I sent this stupid fellow to
bring me a pair of boots from the closet; and he has brought me two
rights, instead of a right and left.
_Cousin_. What a serious calamity! But, perhaps, he thought it was but
_right_ to leave the _left_.
_Grim_. None of your jokes, if you please. This is nothing to laugh at.
_Cousin_. So it would seem, from the expression on your face,--rather
something to storm at, roar at, and fall into a frenzy about.
_Michael_. That's right, Miss; give him a piece of your mind! He's the
crossest little man I have met with in the new country. You might scrape
old Ireland with a fine-tooth comb, and not find such another.
_Grim_. How dare you talk to me in that style? I'll discharge you this
very day!
_Michael_. I'm thinking of discharging _you_, if you don't take better
care of that _sweet temper_ of yours.
_Grim_. Leave the room, sir!
_Michael_. That I will, in search of better company, saving the lady's
presence. [_Exit._
_Grim_. There, cousin! there is a specimen of my provocations! Can you
wonder at my losing my temper?
_Cousin_. Cousin Grim, that would be the most _fortunate_ thing that
could befall you.
_Grim_. What do you mean?
_Cousin_. I mean, if you could only _lose that temper_ of yours, it
would be a blessed thing for you; though I should pity the poor fellow
who _found it._ _Grim_. You are growing satirical in your old age,
Cousin Mary.
_Cousin_. Cousin Grim, hear the plain truth; your ill temper makes you a
nuisance to yourself and every body about you.
_Grim_. Really, Miss Mary Somerville, you are getting to be
complimentary!
_Cousin_. No; I am getting to be _candid_. I have passed a week in your
house, on your invitation. I leave you this afternoon; but, before I go,
I mean to speak my mind.
_Grim_. It seems to me that you have spoken it rather freely already.
_Cousin_. What was there, in the circumstance of poor Michael's bringing
you the wrong boots, to justify your flying into a rage, and bellowing
as if your life had been threatened?
_Grim_. That fellow is perpetually making just such provoking blunders!
_Cousin_. And do you never make provoking blunders'? Didn't you send me
five pounds of Hyson tea, when I wrote for Souchong'? Didn't you send a
carriage for me to the cars, half an hour too late, so that I had to
hire one myself, after great trouble'? And did I roar at you, when we
met, because you had done these things'?
_Grim_. On the contrary, this is the first time you have alluded to
them. I am sorry they should have happened. But surely you should make a
_distinction_ between any such little oversight of mine, and the
stupidity of a servant, hired to attend to your orders.
_Cousin_. I do not admit that there should be a distinction. You are
both human; only, as you have had the better education, and the greater
advantages, stupidity or neglect on your part, is much the more
culpable.
_Grim_. Thank you! Go on.
_Cousin_. I mean to; so don't be impatient. If an uncooked potato, or a
burnt mutton-chop, happens to fall to your lot at the dinner-table, what
a tempest follows! One would think you had been wronged, insulted,
trampled on, driven to despair. Your face is like a thunder-cloud, all
the rest of the meal. Your poor wife endeavors to hide her tears. Your
children feel timid and miserable. Your guest feels as if she would like
to see you held under the nose of the pump, and thoroughly ducked.
_Grim_. The carriage is waiting for you, Miss Somerville, and the driver
has put on your baggage.
_Cousin_. I have hired that carriage by the hour, and so am in no hurry.
Your excuse for your irritability will be, I suppose, that it is
_constitutional_, and not to be controlled. A selfish, paltry, miserable
excuse! I have turned down a leaf in Dr. Johnson's works, and will read
what he says in regard to tempers like yours.
_Grim_. You are always quoting Dr. Johnson! Cousin, I can not endure it!
Dr. Johnson is a bore!
_Cousin_. Oh, yes! to _evil-doers_,--but to none else. Hear him: "There
is in the world a class of mortals known, and contentedly known, by the
appellation of _passionate men_, who imagine themselves entitled, by
this distinction, to be provoked on every slight occasion, and to vent
their rage in vehement and fierce vociferations, in furious menaces, and
licentious reproaches."
_Grim_. That will do.
_Cousin_. "Men of this kind," he tells us, "are often pitied rather than
censured, and are not treated with the severity which their neglect of
the ease of all about them, might justly provoke." But he adds: "It is
surely not to be observed without indignation, that men may be found of
minds mean enough to be satisfied with this treatment; wretches who are
proud to obtain the privilege of madmen, and----"
_Grim_. I will hear no more! Have done!
_Cousin_. So the shaft went home! I am not sorry.
_Grim_. No one but a meddlesome old maid would think of insulting a man
in his own house.
_Cousin_. So, when, at a loss for a vindication, you reproach me with
being an old maid! Cousin, it does not distress me, either to be an old
maid, or to be called one. I must, however, remark, that the manhood
that can charge against a woman her single state, either as a matter of
ridicule or reproach, is not quite up to my standard.
_Grim_. Cousin Mary, I ask your pardon! But am I, indeed, the petulant,
disagreeable fellow, you would make me out?
_Cousin_. My dear Caspar, you are generous enough in large things; but,
oh! consider that _trifles make up a good portion of the sum of life_;
and so "_a small unkindness is a great offense_." Why not be cheerful,
sunny, genial, in little things? Why not look on the bright side? Why
not present an unruffled front to petty annoyances? Why not labor,--ay,
labor,--to have those around you happy and contented, by reflecting from
yourself such a frame of mind upon them?
Life is short, at the best; why not make it cheerful? Do you know that
longevity is promoted by a tranquil, happy habit of thought and temper'?
Do you know that cheerfulness, like mercy, is twice blessed; blessing
"him that gives, and him that takes'?" Do you know that good manners, as
well as good sense, demand that we should look at objects on their
bright side'? Do you know that it is contemptible selfishness in you to
shed gloom and sorrow over a whole family by your moroseness and
ill-humor'?
_Grim_. Cousin Mary, the patience with which I have listened to your
cutting remarks, will prove to you, I hope, that, notwithstanding my
angry retorts, I am convinced there is much truth in what you have said
of me. I have a favor to ask. Send away your carriage; stay a week
longer,--a month,--a year, if you will. Hold the lash over this ugly
temper of mine,--and I give you my word that I will set about the cure
of it in earnest.
_Cousin_. You should have begun earlier,--in youth, when the temper is
pliable, and strong impressions can work great changes. But we will not
despair. I will tarry with you a while, just to see if you are serious
in your wish for a reformation, and to help you bring it about.
_Grim_. Thank you. We hear of reformed drunkards, and reformed thieves;
and _why may not a petulant temper be reformed_, but a system of total
abstinence from all harsh, unkind moods and expressions? Come, we will
try.
QUESTIONS.--1. At what was Mr. Grim offended? 2. What did Cousin Mary
say would be fortunate for him? 3. What blunder had Mr. Grim made? 4.
How did he often behave at the table? 5. What does Dr. Johnson say of
such men? 6. What did Cousin Mary finally say to him? 7. Of what was he
convinced? 8. What did he resolve to do?
* * * * *
LESSON CXVI.
SAC' RI FICE, religious offering.
STRAIGHT, immediately.
SCUR' VY, low; mean.
SCRU' PLE, hesitate.
EN DURE', suffer'; tolerate.
IM PURE, filthy; unclean.
UT TER LY, entirely; completely.
BLEM' ISH, defect; deformity.
WA' VER ED, hesitated.
IM PAR' TIAL, just; free from bias.
RE FER', leave to another.
PAR' DON, forgive.
GHEE, kind of butter used in India.
DIS TRUST' ING, suspecting.
PAL PA BLE, obvious; evident.
LAUD' ING, praising.
THE BRAHMIN AND THE ROGUES.
[Footnote: The fable, here thrown into verse, is related in English
prose by Macaulay, who says:--"Thus, or nearly thus, if we remember
rightly, runs the story of the Sanscrit Aesop."]
AN EASTERN FABLE.
VERSIFIED BY J.N. McELLIGOTT.
1. A Brahmin went out, the legends say,
To buy him a sheep a certain day;
For he had solemnly vowed to slay,
In sacrifice, a sheep that day,
And wanted a sheep his vow to pay.
Three neighboring rogues
(The cunning dogs!)
Finding this out,
Went straight about
(Moved, I ween, by the very Old Nick,)
To play the Brahmin a scurvy trick.
2. So one of them met him with the cry:--
"O Brahmin! O Brahmin! won't you buy
A beautiful sheep? for here have I
A beautiful sheep for sacrifice,
As ever was seen by mortal eyes."
3. "Where is your sheep?" replied the Brahmin;
"Bring him out here, and let me examine."
With that the wag
Opened a bag,
And out he drew
To public view
An ugly, dirty, horrible dog!
Blind as a bat, and lame as a frog;
With a broken leg, climbing a log.
Or limping slowly over a bog.
4. "Wretch!" said the Brahmin indignant, "who
Shamelessly utterest things untrue,
And dost without a scruple endure
To handle creatures the most impure,
How darest thou call that cur a sheep?
Do you think, foul knave, that I'm asleep?"
5. "_Cur'!_" said the fellow with steady tone;
"A _sheep_ it is, and a sheep alone;
A sheep (see here, what a splendid fleece!)
With flesh the sweetest, and fat as grease;
And such a prize
For sacrifice,
As neither gods nor men can despise,
Unless they both have dust in their eyes!"
"Sir," said the Brahmin, surprised to find
A person so utterly out of his mind,
"'Tis certain that _you_ or _I_ am blind."
6. Then stepping up,
Patting the pup,
Rogue the second, as if amazed,
While on the dog he steadily gazed,
Exclaims aloud:--"The gods be praised!
Since I've no need to market to go
To buy me a sheep; for here's one so
From spot and blemish perfectly free,
That better could not possibly be.
Isn't it nice?
What's your price?"
7. The Brahmin, seeing this singular thing,
Wavered in mind, like one in a swing;
Yet answered the stranger, firmly,--"Sir,
This isn't a sheep, but only a cur."
"_Cur_?" with disdain, the new-comer said;
"Why, man, you're surely out of your head!"
8. As this occurred,
Came rogue the third,
To whom, as being a witness new,
And likely to take impartial view,
Brahmin proposed at once to refer,
Whether the creature was _sheep_ or _cur_.
All being agreed, the eager priest
Said:--"Stranger, what do you call this beast?"
"A _sheep_, to be sure!" the knave replied;
"As fine a sheep as ever you spied."
9. "Well," said the Brahmin, "the gods this day
Have surely taken my senses away!"
Then begging the rogue
That carried the dog,
To pardon him for doubting his word,
He, with a readiness most absurd,
Purchased the creature with rice and ghee,
Which went, of course, to the worthless three,
And which they shared with wonderful glee.
10. Thus taken in,
The poor Brahmin
Offered it up,
The filthy pup,
Which so offended the gods, that they
Sent sore disease his folly to pay:
Thinking it right the man to chastise
For so distrusting his natural eyes,
And being led by palpable lies
To offer a dog as a sacrifice.
MORAL.
Look out for the arts of the puffing tribe,--
People that praise for the sake of a bribe;
Lavishly lauding a book or a pill,
Or any thing else the pocket to fill;
Singing Simplicity fast asleep,
And making her dream a dog's a sheep.
QUESTIONS.--1. What trick did the three rogues play off on the Brahmin?
2. In what way did they do this? 3. What moral is taught in this fable?
* * * * *
LESSON CXVII.
E LAS TIC' I TY, returning vigor.
MIN' I FIES, lessens; makes small.
DEG RA DA' TION, abasement.
ES TRANGED, alienates.
UN ALMS' ED, not having received alms.
HA BIT' U AL, accustomed.
EX TRAV' A GANCE, superfluous expense.
IM PER' TI NENCE, that which is not pertinent.
SUS PI' CIOUS, distrustful.
E CON' O MY, frugality.
TRAN' QUIL, calm; undisturbed.
BE NUMB' ING, dull; stupefying.
IM PROV' I DENCE, wastefulness.
LIVING WITHIN OUR MEANS.
S.W. PARTRIDGE.
1. _Oh, beware of debt_!
It crushes out the manhood of a man,
Robs his bright eye of boldness, cheats his limbs
Of elasticity, unnerves his hand,
Beclouds his judgment, dulls his intellect,
Perils his uprightness, and stains his name,
And minifies him to his fellow-men;
Yea, far worse degradation, to himself.
2. Who hath the hurried step, the anxious eye,
Avoids the public haunt and open street,
And anxious waits for evening? Restlessly
Tosses upon his bed, and dreads the approach
Of the tell-tale morning sunlight? Who, unmanned,
Starts at the sudden knock, and shrinks with dread
E'en at his own shadow; shuns with care
The stranger's look, skulks from his fellow's glance,
And sees in every man a creditor?
3. The _debtor_;--he is only half a man;
He saddens and estranges his chief friends,
Burdens his dearest relatives; he hears
In vain the stranger's tale, the widow's prayer,
And sends away the orphan all unalmsed.
None dare to place him in a post of trust,
And business men regard him with a shrug.
4. "Owe no man aught." Stand in the world erect,
And lean alone upon thyself and God.
The habitual borrower will be ever found
Wicked, or weak, or both. Sweat, study, stint,
Yea, rather _any thing_ than meanly owe.
Let thine own honest hands feed thee and thine,
And, if not thy friend's purse, at least, respect
Thine own sweet independence.
5. Have fewest wants: the book, however good,
Thou shouldst not purchase, let it go unbought;
And fashion's vests by thee be all unworn.
Soon luxuries become necessities,
But self-denying thrift more joy affords
Than all the pleasures of extravagance.
A cottage, free from clamorous creditors,
Is better than a mansion dunned; a coat,
However darned, if paid for, hath an ease,
And a respectability beside:
Gay, ill-afforded vests can never boast.
6. However cheap,
Whatever thou want'st not, buy not. That is dear,
A mere extravagant impertinence,
For which thou hast no need. Feel first the want
Ere it be satisfied; bargains full oft
Are money-wasting things, that prudent men
Will keep afar from with suspicious eye;
Perchance to any but of little use,
And to themselves, most likely, none at all.
7. The habit of economy once formed,
'Tis easy to attain to prosperous things.
Thou then shalt lend, not borrow: shalt not want
A helping trifle when thy friend hath need,
Or means to seize an opportunity,--
Seed-coin, to ensure a harvest. Thou shalt then
Want not an alms for pinching poverty;
And, though a sudden sickness dam the stream,
And cut off thy supplies, thou shalt lie down
And view thy morrows with a tranquil eye;
Even benumbing age shall scare thee not,
But find thee unindebted, and secure
From all the penury and wretchedness
That dog the footsteps of improvidence.
* * * * *
LESSON CXVIII.
OM NIP' O TENT, all-powerful.
IN TER' MI NA BLE, endless.
MILK Y-WAY, galaxy; luminous circle in the heavens.
AS' TRAL, starry.
IN FIN' I TUDE, unlimited extent.
IM PET' U OUS, rushing.
AS TRON O MER, one skilled in the science of the stars.
AP PROX' I MATE LY, nearly.
OM NIS' CIENCE, knowledge of all things.
PER TUR BA' TIONS, irregularities of motion.
AB' SO LUTE, entire.
PRE CIS' ION, exactness.
AD JUST' MENTS, arrangements.
RET' I NUE, company.
SAT' EL LITES, small planets revolving round others.
GRANDEUR OF THE UNIVERSE.
O.M. MITCHEL.
1. If you would know the _glory_ of the Omnipotent Ruler of the
universe, examine the interminable range of suns and systems which crowd
the Milky-Way. Multiply the hundred millions of stars which belong to
our own "island universe" by the thousands of these astral systems that
exist in space, within the range of human vision, and _then_ you may
form some idea of the _infinitude_ of His kingdom; for lo! these are but
a part of His ways.
2. Examine the scale on which the universe is built. Comprehend, if you
can, the vast dimensions of our sun. Stretch outward through his system,
from planet to planet, and circumscribe the whole within the immense
circumference of Neptune's orbit. This is but a single unit out of the
myriads of similar systems.
3. Take the wings of light, and flash with impetuous speed, day and
night, and month, and year, till youth shall wear away, and middle age
is gone, and the extremest limit of human life has been attained;--count
every pulse, and, at each, speed on your way a hundred thousand miles;
and when a hundred years have rolled by, look out, and behold! the
thronging millions of blazing suns are still around you, each separated
from the other by such a distance, that, in this journey of a century,
you have only left half a score behind you.
4. Would you gather some idea of the _eternity_ past of God's
existence,--go to the astronomer, and bid him lead you in one of his
walks through space; and, as he sweeps outward from object to object,
from universe to universe, remember that the light from those filmy
stains on the deep pure blue of heaven, now falling on your eye, has
been traversing space for a million of years.
5. Would you gather some knowledge of the _omnipotence_ of God,--weigh
the earth on which we dwell, then count the millions of its inhabitants
that have come and gone for the last six thousand years. Unite their
strength into one arm, and test its power in an effort to move this
earth. It could not stir it a single foot in a thousand years; and yet
under the omnipotent hand of God, not a minute passes that it does not
fly more than a thousand miles.
6. But this is a mere atom,--the most insignificant point among his
innumerable worlds. At his bidding, every planet, and satellite, and
comet, and the sun himself, fly onward in their appointed courses. His
single arm guides the millions of sweeping suns, and around His throne
circles the great constellation of unnumbered universes.
7. Would you comprehend the idea of the _omniscience_ of God,--remember
that the highest pinnacle of knowledge reached by the whole human race,
by the combined efforts of its brightest intellects, has enabled the
astronomer to compute approximately the perturbations of the planetary
worlds. He has predicted roughly the return of half a score of comets.
But God has computed the mutual perturbations of millions of suns, and
planets, and comets, and worlds, without number, through the ages that
are passed, and throughout the ages which are yet to come, not
approximately, but with perfect and absolute precision.
8. The universe is in motion,--system rising above system, cluster above
cluster, nebula above nebula,--all majestically sweeping around under
the providence of God, who alone knows the end from the beginning, and
before whose glory and power all intelligent beings, whether in heaven
or on earth, should bow with humility and awe.
9. Would you gain some idea of the _wisdom_ of God,--look to the
admirable adjustments of the magnificent retinue of planets and
satellites which sweep around the sun. Every globe has been weighed and
poised, every orbit has been measured and bent to its beautiful form.
10. All is changing; but the laws fixed by the wisdom of God, though
they permit the rocking to and fro of the system, never introduce
disorder, or lead to destruction. All is perfect and harmonious, and the
music of the spheres that burn and roll around our sun, is echoed by
that of ten millions of moving worlds, that sing and shine around the
bright suns that reign above.
11. If, overwhelmed with the grandeur and majesty of the universe of
God, we are led to exclaim with the Hebrew poet-king,--"When I consider
Thy heavens, the work of Thy fingers, the moon and the stars, which Thou
hast ordained, what is man, that Thou art mindful of him? and the son of
man, that Thou visitest him?"--If fearful that the eye of God may
overlook us in the immensity of His kingdom, we have only to call to
mind that other passage, "Yet Thou hast made him but a little lower than
the angels, and hast crowned him with glory and honor. Thou madest him
to have dominion over all the works of Thy hand; Thou hast put all
things under his feet." Such are the teachings of the word, and such are
the lessons of the works of God.
* * * * *
LESSON CXIX.
"WHOM HAVE I IN HEAVEN BUT THEE?"
MISS PAMELIA S. VINING.
1. 'Twere naught to me, yon glorious arch of night,
Decked with the gorgeous blazonry of heaven,
If, to my faith, amid its splendors bright,
No vision of the Eternal One were given;
I could but view a dreary, soulless waste,--
A vast expanse of solitude unknown,
More cheerless for the splendors o'er it cast,--
For all its grandeur more intensely lone.
2. 'Twere naught to me, this ever-changeful scene
Of earthly beauty, sunshine, and delight,--
The wood's deep shadows and the valley's green,--
Morn's tender glow, and sunset's splendors bright;
Naught, if my Father spoke not from the sky,
The cloud, the flower, the landscape, and the leaf;
My soul would pine 'mid earth's vain pageantry,
And droop in hopeless orphanage and grief.
3. 'Twere naught to me, the ocean's vast expanse,
If His perfections were not mirrored there;
Hopeless across the unmeasured waste I'd glance,
And clasp my hands in anguish, not in prayer.
Naught Nature's anthem, ever swelling up
From Nature's myriad voices; for the hymn
Breathes not of love, or gratitude, or hope,
Robbed of the tones that tell my soul of Him.
4. This wondrous universe how less than naught
Without my God! how desolate and drear!
A mock'ry, earth with her vain splendors fraught!
A gilded pageant, every rolling sphere!
The noonday sun with all his glories crowned,
A sickly meteor glimmers faint and pale!
And all earth's melodies, their sweetness drowned,
Are but the utterance of a funeral wail.
* * * * *
LESSON CXX.
THE MEMORY OF WASHINGTON.
KOSSUTH.
1. Mr. President: I consider it a particular favor of Providence that I
am permitted to partake, on the present solemn occasion, in paying the
tribute of honor and gratitude to the memory of your immortal
Washington.
2. An architect having raised a proud and noble building to the service
of the Almighty, his admirers desired to erect a monument to his memory.
How was it done? His name was inscribed upon the wall, with these
additional words: "You seek his monument--look around."
3. Let him who looks for a monument of Washington look around the United
States. The whole country is a monument to him. Your freedom, your
independence, your national power, your prosperity, and your prodigious
growth, is a monument to Washington.
4. There is no room left for panegyric, none especially to a stranger
whom you had full reason to charge with arrogance, were he able to
believe that his feeble voice could claim to be noticed in the mighty
harmony of a nation's praise. Let me, therefore, instead of such an
arrogant attempt, pray that that God, to whose providential intentions
Washington was a glorious instrument, may impart to the people of the
United States the same wisdom for the conservation of the present
prosperity of the land and for its future security, which he gave to
Washington for the foundation of it.
5. I yield to nobody in the world in reverence and respect to the
immortal memory of Washington. His life and his principles were the
guiding star of my life; to that star I looked up for inspiration and
advice, during the vicissitudes of my stormy life. Hence I drew that
devotion to my country and to the cause of national freedom, which you,
gentlemen, and millions of your fellow-citizens, and your national
government, are so kind as to honor by unexampled distinction.
6. Sir, I have studied the history of your immortal Washington, and
have, from my early youth, considered his principles as a living source
of instruction to statesmen and to patriots.
When, in that very year in which Washington issued his Farewell Address,
M. Adet, the French Minister, presented to him the flag of the French
Republic, Washington, as President of the United States, answered
officially, with these memorable words:
"Born in a land of liberty, having early learned its value, having
engaged in a perilous conflict to defend it, having devoted the best
years of my life to secure its permanent establishment in my country, my
anxious recollections, my sympathetic feelings, and my best wishes, are
irresistibly attracted, whensoever in any country I see an oppressed
nation unfurl the banner of freedom."
7. Thus spoke Washington. Have I not then full reason to say, that if he
were alive his generous sympathy would be with me; and the sympathy of a
Washington never was, and never would be, a barren word. Washington, who
raised the word "honesty" as a rule of policy, never would have
professed a sentiment which his wisdom as a statesman would not have
approved.
8. Sir! here let me end. I consider it already as an immense benefit
that your generous attention connected the cause of Hungary with the
celebration of the memory of Washington.
9. Spirit of the departed! smile down from heaven upon this appreciation
of my country's cause; watch over those principles which thou hast taken
for the guiding star of thy noble life, and the time will yet come when
not only thine own country, but liberated Europe, also, will be a living
monument to thy immortal name.
* * * * *
LESSON CXXI.
THE LOST ONE'S LAMENT.
1. Oh! the snow, the beautiful snow,
Filling the sky and earth below;
Over the housetops, over the street,
Over the heads of the people you meet,
Dancing,
Flirting,
Skimming along!
Beautiful snow! it can do no wrong.
Flying to kiss a fair lady's cheek,
Clinging to lips in a frolicsome freak,
Beautiful snow from the Heaven above,
Pure as an angel, gentle as love!
2. Oh! the snow, the beautiful snow,
How the flakes gather and laugh as they go?
Whirling about in its maddening fun,
It plays in its glee with every one;
Chasing,
Laughing,
Hurrying by,
It lights on the face and it sparkles the eye!
And even the dogs, with a bark and a bound,
Snap at the crystals that eddy around.
The town is alive, and its heart in a glow
To welcome the coming of beautiful snow.
3. How wild the crowd goes swaying along,
Hailing each other with humor and song!
How the gay sledges, like meteors, flash by,
Bright for the moment, then lost to the eye!
Ringing,
Swinging,
Dashing they go
Over the crust of the beautiful snow;
Snow so pure when it falls from the sky,
To be trampled in mud by the crowd rushing by,
To be trampled and tracked by thousands of feet,
Till it blends with the filth in the horrible street
4. How strange it should be that this beautiful snow,
Should fall on a sinner with nowhere to go!
How strange it should be, when the night comes again
If the snow and the ice struck my desperate brain!
Fainting,
Freezing,
Dying alone,
Too wicked for prayer, too weak for a moan
To be heard in the crazy town,
Gone mad in the joy of the snow coming down;
To lie and so die, in my terrible woe,
With a bed and a shroud of the beautiful snow!
End of Project Gutenberg's Sanders' Union Fourth Reader, by Charles W. Sanders
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